Love and Death
by Delightfully Weird
Summary: Morgan has grown up with Maeve as her only constant parent. When the time comes for her annual visit to see Ciaran, Morgan meets a fascinating boy and with regret realizes she must leave. Once home, she meets someone else and moves on... But the past has a way of catching up with you.
1. Chapter 1

**This may be my favorite story I have ever written, and I hope you all like it, too!**

 **I have all twenty-five chapters outlined and I would love to have it completed by the end of June. Once this story is 100% completed, I will refocus on my other stories. I just _had_ to get this one out of my system.**

 **Hope you enjoy, and reviews are appreciated!**

 **Disclaimer: As always, any characters, situations, and places mentioned in the Sweep series are not mine and belong to Cate Tiernan and Penguin Group.**

* * *

"Do I really have to go?" I pleaded with my mother for probably the tenth time that afternoon. "I always feel like they hate me just for existing."

"Sweetheart, I really don't think it's going to be like that this time." She countered. "Your Dad's got his own place now—you won't have to see the witch." She gave me an amused smile and sipped her tea. An inside joke.

We were all witches magickally—my father's wife was just one by personality.

Tonight I was taking a redeye to London to do my annual summer father-daughter visit, which consisted mostly of being corralled with his other children and kept out of his way. And that wasn't easy. Of my half siblings, only one loved me—my sister was a nightmare and always looked at me in accusation and my oldest brother was just annoyed by my presence, hardly ever saying a word to me. Killian was different; he was like my best friend, and we had a closer bond than he had with his full-blooded siblings.

I sighed, hopping down from the kitchen counter. "Dad is hardly ever there, and when he is, he's just complaining about how I'm not growing up to be a proper witch."

My mother rolled her eyes at that. For my entire life, it's been just me and her, in this small town in upstate New York. Ciaran, the other half of my genetic makeup, had supplied everything: our house, Mom's car, my car last November when I'd turned sixteen, an excess of money we rarely touched. It meant nothing, anyway. I'd grown up not trusting the man. To me, he was the sperm donor and the overcompensating provider. He wasn't a father. He had forced my mom to be with him for my sake, and she had agreed—slightly.

Every month, she would go off for days and meet him somewhere. As long as she did that, he would stay away from Red Kill, and I only had to see him in the summer. I knew she hated herself for it—he was still married, and she hated what his coven stood for. She hated him for turning to dark magick.

I'd always wondered if Ciaran had something on Maeve. She worked, she made enough to take care of the two of us, so why did she need him? Mom would never say when I asked. She wouldn't even give me a lame excuse. I knew it hurt her worse than it hurt me, so I tried to leave it alone.

I've read in her Book of Shadows about me before I was born and never brought it up to her. In it, she said that her former lover was my father, and that she had wanted to get an abortion so I would never know the pain of being a Riordan witch. She'd written that she hadn't been strong enough, and that she would not teach me the craft.

But she had, and rather successfully.

Ciaran had been trying for years—even before I'd been initiated—to get me to join his coven. I refused his offer every time, knowing that I wanted to work light magick like my mom. Then we would go months of Mom being really depressed, trying to get back to normal, and by the time she was herself again, away from Ciaran's influence, it was summer and I was going off to visit. Yet another reason I despised him.

"Morgan, listen to me." Mom set down her mug and held my face in her hands. We were the same height, so I had no choice but to look into her eyes. "You are a great witch, but more importantly, you're a _good_ one. I know how hard it is for you to remember that when you see him, but I would rather he kill me than change you, alright?"

I nodded, feeling my eyes get teary. It wasn't some sentimental saying like "I love you more than my own life"—it was a promise, and I knew it. She would really rather die than have me become like him.

* * *

"You the welcoming committee?" I asked my brother, Killian, as I arrived in baggage claim. He was waiting by the carousel with my flight number.

Killian welcomed me with a hug. "Good to see you, little sister!" he released me from the hug but kept an arm around my shoulders as the luggage started coming in. "Which is yours?"

"It's black with a purple tie on the handle… there." I pointed as it tumbled onto the belt. Killian left me to retrieve it, and I smiled my thanks at him.

Once I had my suitcase, I followed him out to the car, shivering once the cool morning air hit my bare arms. Back at home, in late June, the nights and mornings were ranging from the low-60s to upper-70s. Killian looked comfortable in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but I had to guess that with no clouds in sight, this counted as summer here.

As we got to the car, Killian got everything into the trunk for me and led me to the passenger door. Shaking off a sleepless night, I quickly remembered the major difference between this car and an American one. I got in what felt like the driver's side and tried not to nod off. I hadn't been able to get comfortable enough to sleep on the plane, and being almost eleven in the morning here, I doubted I could get away with a nap.

We drove in comfortable silence, and after about ten minutes, I was out.

Killian shook me awake gently, and I rubbed my eyes. I glanced at the clock on the radio—it was already after noon, and we were parked in front of a fairly large standalone house. The closest house was several acres away.

"Where are we?"

"This is Da's house. He wanted something secluded to conduct Amyranth business." He said this so casually that it caught me off guard, and it took me a second to get out of the car.

Killian got my suitcase, and I grabbed my carryon. Ciaran was standing in the doorway when I turned around, and I mentally braced myself. _Two months_ , I told myself. _Just two months_.

"Morgan," Ciaran greeted me, and then gave me a hug I returned stiffly.

"Hi, Dad." I said, not meeting his assessing gaze, which I'm sure didn't help to change his opinion of me.

Ciaran grabbed my carryon off of my shoulder and had me follow him and Killian up the stairs. In a room smaller than I had at home, there was a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a bookshelf. No TV, no computer. My cell phone probably didn't work here. Great.

Everything was pink and girly, except for the bedding—a look I'd had in my room until I was about ten. Since then, I'd painted my room every time I got bored with a color. Currently, it was a light brown with beachy accents. My next room change was probably going to include wildflowers.

I sat down on the white comforter covered bed and closed my eyes briefly.

"We'll leave you to get settled." Ciaran said, and he and Killian set my bags down and left, closing the door behind them.

I got up and opened a large window to let fresh air into the stuffy room that smelled like fresh paint, and then crawled into bed still fully dressed and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

When my eyelids betrayed me by opening the next morning, I felt like I was filled with sand—heavy, immovable, incapable of leaving the bed. But as my other senses woke up, I smelled food, and the realization I hadn't eaten in at least a day caused my stomach to ache and growl. I sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. If I didn't know any better, I would swear I'd been asleep for at least a week.

Standing was easier than I expected, and I stretched, feeling the muscles in my arms, back, and legs tighten and release happily. The window let in a surprising amount of light, and I looked and saw the sun making its way southward. It was probably at least 10:30, I guessed before confirming the nightstand clock's time.

I rummaged through my suitcase and changed my clothes. I would need to find a bathroom and brush my hair and teeth before I went downstairs. Had anyone even told me where it was?

I peeked outside my door with hair brush, toothbrush, and toothpaste in hand. My question was answered as I saw an open bathroom door across the hall from my room.

By the time I was done, I felt slightly more human and worked my way down the stairs. I had no idea what Ciaran had in store for me today, but figured I would soon be Killian's chore or be left alone in my room or out in the garden to read all day. That was actually my preference.

My hopes vanished the instant I spotted two unexpected faces at the dining table, and I froze, my face a mask of horror. Killian didn't look too pleased for them to be there either.

"Morgan," Ciaran greeted me with a smile I'm sure was meant as a warning.

I took a seat next to Killian, which to my great misfortune, was directly across from my sister. "Iona," I said with a tight nod. "Kyle." He nodded in recognition of my greeting while focusing on his breakfast and a newspaper.

Iona stared at me all of breakfast, and I could feel my face redden in discomfort and embarrassment. I hated her, plain and simple. Getting a reaction from me was just a game to her, and she lived for it.

"Little sister," Iona said in a sickly sweet voice, mocking Killian's affectionate name for me. I had just started eating some toast—the only thing I didn't feel awkward nibbling on in front of her. I set down it down on the plate and looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Her eyes were dull, almost colorless, but held a ferocity that made my breath hitch like I was about to be chased in a horror movie. "You don't have plans for today, do you?"

I glanced at Ciaran, who had stopped eating and focused on Iona as soon as she had addressed me. I shook my head. "I don't think so."

"Come to town with me? I could use your help."

"I think that's a great idea," Ciaran said with approval, and she beamed at him. "Morgan?"

I didn't want to. I absolutely didn't want to, but if she were going into town I could easily lose her and be on my own for a little bit. So I shrugged and said, "Sure."

"Great." Iona's smile faltered just a bit and then disappeared completely when he turned his attention to me.

"How is school going?" Ciaran resumed eating, waiting for my answer.

My eyes narrowed in confusion. "Mom didn't tell you?" I asked, and Iona looked visibly irritated at the mention of my mother. "I dropped out and got my GED months ago."

Ciaran looked stunned, if not horrified, but carried on. "What do you do then?"

"I work at the shop—the register, ordering supplies, I manage the inventory a lot." I explained, taking a bite of cold, jam-covered toast.

Iona giggled as she took a sip of tea. "You hear that, Da? Your brilliant progeny is a little shop girl." She set down her cup and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "All this potential, supposed power, and she wastes it by selling candles and herbs to second-rate witches."

"Iona," Ciaran warned, but she continued.

"No, Da, she doesn't deserve to be a MacEwan!" Iona snapped. "She hasn't done _anything_ to prove she's one of us!"

Feeling a wall of anger slam against me, I sat back in my chair, arms crossed, mirroring her position, and said, "I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?" Iona demanded.

"I'm not a MacEwan," I said firmly, fully aware my father was sitting a few spaces away from me. "I'm a Riordan."

As if that had been the ammunition she needed, she laughed triumphantly. "A Riordan," she repeated. "A disgusting Riordan."

Ciaran was on his feet and leaning across the table to Iona in an instant, his chair falling to the ground with a crash. "What did you say to her?"

"I—" she started, choking on her words. Like a popped balloon, she was completely deflated, defeated. Submissively, she looked down at her plate and stayed quiet.

Ciaran, seeming satisfied, straightened and picked up his chair. "Killian," he said in a cheerful tone. Killian looked up at him at the mention of his name. "Will you take Morgan into town today? I'm sure Iona won't be feeling up to it."

Iona remained locked in her trance, as if she'd been spelled. Maybe she had been—I knew better than to underestimate my father's powers. Kyle continued to read as if he'd heard nothing.

* * *

Killian had been with me all of two minutes before running into some people he knew—mostly girls—and ditched me to go to the pub. At one in the afternoon.

I had found a quiet bench under a tree in the park, its leaves full and green, providing welcomed shade from the sun that seemed far more powerful than it had yesterday. I'd been walking just a few minutes and started to sweat before I found the small, grassy park.

This cool, shady bench also provided an excellent view for people watching. Kids played with their dogs, couples were enjoying picnics in full exposure to the sun's light. Other people were lying on blankets and reading alone. I stared at them in envy and wished I'd brought a book with me on this excursion.

Eventually I got a little too chilly and left my bench. As I walked through the small town, I spotted the pub I'm sure Killian was getting plastered in. There was a busy ice cream shop, a little market, a few tacky gift shops—I hadn't realized this place was such a tourist destination. A theater boasted titles of movies I had already seen at least a month ago, but if I got too bored I was sure I could make it through one again.

As I was making my way to the end of the shopping area and entering a residential neighborhood, I started to turn back. I tried to remember where the theater was when my senses prickled. I stopped, trying to pick up on it, and felt a pull into the first row of houses.

At the very end of the row, an old, rickety sign stood proudly in front of a roughed-up, white-painted house. _Summer Sun_ , it read, painted in an obnoxious shade of yellow, _for all your magickal needs!_ the text concluded in a soft sky blue, the chipping paint a rather pretty shade on the worn-out white sign.

Thank the Goddess! I cried mentally. Up on the porch were bookshelves, fully stocked. The front door was wide open, and I practically ran inside. The entrance was very much like Practical Magick; candles and incense towards the front for easy access. Crystals lay in flat trays on an antique table with hand-written tags describing the type of crystal and their purposes.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I was happy. It felt like home, and I was too overjoyed to even think about missing my mom.

I wandered the book aisles towards the back, marveling at the similarities to our shop at home. My hands traced the spines of them, some worn out and fraying, others brand new. I liked that this shop had them combined rather than a separate "used" section—to me, books were books. They all held knowledge and enjoyment—why keep them apart? I had always preferred used books, and when I went to buy books in Manhattan or Boston from dealers for the shop, I scoured the used racks or overstock.

I wondered if the owner would let me ship books from here to sell in Practical Magick. A lot of these we absolutely would not find in the US—Books of Shadows from English and Scottish witches ranging in years from three, four hundred years ago to the nineteen-sixties. Original prints of spell crafting guides that we could easily charge a hundred dollars for or more but were just a few pounds here. One book caught my attention, and I wiggled it out of the tight grip the other books had on it.

It was a guide on fire scrying.

Like my mother, my element was fire, and the few times I'd clumsily tried scrying, I had used fire. Of course I'd read books on scrying and had worked with Mom to try to perfect my use with it, but it had never quite worked for me.

But this was something else. This was only for fire, and I felt like it was for me. The author's name on the cover was worn off—Goddess knew how old this book was. I opened up the title page—no publication date, almost as if it had been written by one person and self-published. In faded lettering after the title was the author's name. It was either an N or an M with part of it removed, as it looked like water had gotten to it, and the last name was Riordan.

My name.

"Trying to start a fire?"

A voice startled me, and I looked up at a tall figure illuminated by the sun in the store's windows. It took my eyes a second to adjust, and I saw a man at the end of the aisle.

"What?" I asked, my voice catching. I cleared my throat.

The man came closer, and as he did, his appearance changed. He went from a man to a boy within seconds—tall with scruffy, short blonde hair and angular cheekbones highlighting the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. He was intimidating to look at, and it would've been impossible for me to breathe normally if not for the dusting of freckles softening his appearance. He was hands-down the most amazing, gorgeous, _perfect_ guy I'd ever seen.

"You were staring so intently that it looked like you were trying to light it on fire." He said with a smirk. He glanced at the title, then grinned at me. "I suppose I'm not too far off."

"It's um—I'm—uh, hi," I said, and I wanted to die. The only interaction I usually get from other people is when I'm working. Even when I was in school, everyone thought I was weird and didn't talk to me. So now there was a really attractive male speaking to me, and I was acting like a bumbling idiot.

"Hi," he replied, taking pity on me. "Just so we're clear, you aren't going to set anything on fire in here, right? Siobhan probably wouldn't like that too much."

"Who?" I asked.

"The owner," he leaned down close to me. "She has eyes in the back of her head, so I wouldn't get too carried away if I were you," he looked through an opening in the bookcase to point at a black-haired woman with her back to us.

I swallowed, feeling self-conscious with how close he was to me. His cool beauty only underlined how skinny and flat and intense I was. Seeming to sense this, he straightened.

"So are we clear?"

"With what?" I asked, making my way to the register. He followed and waited for me to pay. The clerk, Siobhan, smiled at the two of us and asked if I found everything I needed. I nodded and paid.

"Have a blessed day!" she called out after me, and I realized He was following me out.

"What?" I asked, turning to him as we got to the road.

His eyes narrowed. "Playing with fire is dangerous, you know."

I nodded. "I'm always careful."

He assessed me for a moment. "What's your name, fire starter?"

"Morgan," I said, feeling blush creep into face. "And yours would be?" I countered, feeling a wave of boldness take over. If He was going to be nosy and relentless, then so would I.

His half-smiled, taking the silent challenge I had offered. "Hunter."

"That's appropriate," I murmured, and he chuckled.

"Morgan," he tested it out. "You're not from here. Visiting someone?"

I nodded. "My father." I said.

"Ah," he replied. "And would your father mind if I saw you again?"

Biting my lip in an attempt to be calm and collected, I shook my head. "I don't think he'll notice if I'm gone."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Okay." I agreed. I tucked the book I'd bought into my bag and started walking down the road back to town. "Oh!" I said, turning back to him. Hunter's eyebrows rose, waiting for me to go on. "For the record," I started, and he took a few steps closer to me. "If I wanted to set something on fire," he was about two feet away now. "I wouldn't need a book to tell me how to do it."

I turned on my heels and continued down the road, enjoying the sound of his laugh.

* * *

 **To anyone reading this story, a review would be so greatly appreciated! I'm working on the next chapter now and should have it uploaded later today or tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Short chapter, but I'm working on the next installment now.**

* * *

"Do you think he's a little suspicious?"

"Oh, I'm sure." I said, sitting down on the short, grassy hill. "But I doubt he's noticed."

For the past two weeks, Hunter and I had been meeting up in town almost every day. The past two days, though, he'd left word with Siobhan at Summer Sun that he had to work. I had been bummed, but had also formed a friendship with the shop's owner. She reminded me so much of Alyce Fernbrake, my coworker and friend at Practical Magick. Both were round, motherly types dripping in lavender and always at the ready with a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear. I was glad to know more people like Alyce existed in the world.

Today had been blessed. Hunter had met me at the shop, and we had gone to the movies—surprisingly, I hadn't seen it yet—and then we'd gotten a bite to eat and enjoyed the warm summer afternoon. As we were walking, our hands had joined, fingers twining together.

So now as the sun was going down, we sat by a stream wide enough to swim in. The current didn't seem too strong. I scooted forward and slid off my shoes to dip my feet in the water, almost moaning at the feeling of it. The day had been so warm, almost hot, that the fairly calm water had absorbed much of the day's sun, the rocks closest to the grass still heated through.

"There are these woods near my house that has a stream similar to this." I started, testing the air by taking one foot out of the water. I hardly felt a difference in temperature. "In the summers I go there and just swim for hours." I slid my legs up to my shins down into the water. "Then I'd walk home, and have to explain to my mom why I was soaking wet and barefoot." I added with a laugh.

"You swim in your clothes?"

I shook my head. "No, but I have to get dressed once I'm done." I replied. "I don't think I'm too comfortable with my neighbors seeing me walk home naked."

Hunter laughed and followed suit by taking his shoes and socks off and putting his feet in next to mine. "And your friends?"

"No friends," I said. "Just me… I've kind of preferred that, though."

He nodded, as if seeming to understand, and I smiled. After the initial intimidation, he had become easy to be around. Hunter, aside from being a God in human form, was a brilliant witch, and I could listen to him discuss spell crafting all day. My fascination for him was probably unhealthy, but the draw was far too appealing to back away.

I had met other attractive witches, especially out in California. The hippie witches of the bay area were so free and sexy and mesmerizing in contrast to my shyness. The freest thing I ever did was swim naked—alone, where no one would walk in on me.

Even during the spring time celebrations, where nudity is welcomed in my mom's coven (and most covens), I would stay clothed and try hard not to look at exposed bodies. It's amazing what a coven of naked adults, with breasts and genitalia proudly on display of both male and female witches, could do to a teenager's sex drive. I was certain I could die a virgin and be happy.

But then I met Hunter, and the desire to touch him, even if we just held hands, made me reconsider my stance on sexual activity. I was sure I didn't have the same effect on him, but still, the fact that he made me feel lust was a good sign for my future when someone found me attractive.

"Would you like to swim?" he asked, and I could tell that he was unsure of the implication in his tone. If I took it the wrong way, I would accuse him of just wanting to get me naked. But the vulnerability in his expression mirrored mine, and I could see his instant regret of asking.

So I said, "Yes." The relief was slight but evident, and I stood to take off my clothes. Without looking at him, I set my shirt down on the grass and wiggled out of my shorts and underwear. The rocks made an easy path to the water, and I sank down to my shoulders in the clear water and turned to face him.

Hunter seemed to marvel at me, at my boldness, and I blushed. He had seen my entire backside on the way to the water, and I was sure the light of the mostly-full moon above us only highlighted my pale skin, making me almost white.

"Coming in?" I asked. I ducked under to give him some sense of privacy and swam a few feet away against the slow current.

Looking up at the sky, at all the stars, I felt so at peace. The sounds of the lapping stream and the summer insects chirping were like a lullaby, made just for me. I let the current drift me back to Hunter. His white blonde hair was spiky and made water drip down onto his forehead. I reached a hand out to wipe the drops away and laughed when I only made it worse.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his eyes locked on mine.

"Shh," I whispered back in reply, moving my gaze down his face to his perfectly muscled chest. The water was darkening, and I wished I didn't have magesight. More importantly, I was hoping _he_ didn't have it and couldn't clearly see my naked skin under the water.

Something in his appreciative, knowing grin squashed those hopes immediately.

Hunter's arms wrapped around my back and I wound my arms around his neck, letting him hold me in the water. Hunter leaned his face close to mine and placed a kiss on my forehead. "You." He murmured, kissing down to my nose. "Are." Kiss on my cheekbone. "Beautiful." He whispered in my ear, and then kissed my neck.

Goosebumps covered my arms as anticipation rolled through me. The pupils of his green eyes were so large, like black pools, as he pulled back to look at me. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he very skillfully leaned close to me and pressed his lips against mine. I felt a spark, almost like a shock on my nerve endings as my lips moved against his.

God, this was perfect.

Even if this moment didn't last, even if after tonight I never saw Hunter again, this moment had existed in my life, and I was beyond happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the review,** **Cabiria1999! I really appreciate it!**

* * *

Soaking wet, my clothes dripping onto the road as I walked, I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. Any other kiss I had in my life would be dull compared to the experience I just had with Hunter. He almost made the stay with the MacEwan clan worth it.

But in a month I'd be home.

While it made me sad, I could figure out a way to stay in touch. I really didn't have anything tying me to Red Kill except my mom, but I could leave if I needed to.

I laughed to myself—I'd known this guy for two weeks and I was planning my future to involve him. I had a problem.

All the cars were in the driveway when I walked up, and I groaned. Explaining tonight to Maeve was nothing—I didn't know what Ciaran's reaction would be. At the door, I sent out my senses. Everyone was awake, and I braced myself. No one came out to see me, so I hoped they were all too busy to hound me with questions about where I'd been.

I got up to my room and froze outside the door. It was cracked open, and I could feel Iona's presence. I pushed the door open the rest of the way and saw, to my astonishment, Iona sitting on my bed, my lavender-colored Book of Shadows in hand.

"Ah, Morgan, perfect timing!" she greeted me, not looking at me. "'Goddess, I have never felt this way before. He's so perfect, I can't stand it.'" I stood there, horrified, as my sister read aloud my BOS. "'Hunter and I were talking the other day at the café inside Summer Sun, and he recommended I read Elsie Ferndale's guide to crystal healing, and when I told him that I already owned a copy and have read it multiple times, I couldn't help but laugh at his expression. He had been so sure of himself that seeing this sexy, in-your-face smartass be knocked down a peg was truly hilarious.'"

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded. "What have I done to you, Iona?"

Iona's eyes narrowed as she grinned. "Hold on, Sis, this part's my favorite. 'Hunter almost kissed me at the movies last night. We were sitting in the dark theater, his arm across my shoulders, and as I looked at him I could swear I saw the entire universe in his spectacular eyes. If not for the curfew and Ciaran's already suspicious looks as I leave, I would've gone back to Hunter's place and let him make me a woman.'"

I wrestled the book out of her hands, Iona laughing, and slapped her across the face.

In the two seconds before her retaliation, I realized I had made the worst mistake I could have ever made. Iona knocked me down to the ground, and as I looked up at her furious stare, I closed my eyes in fear of what was to come. The first shot of witch fire hit me directly in the chest, and I cried out, rolling onto my side to gasp as I tried to catch my breath.

Through the commotion, Ciaran, Killian, and Kyle had come into the room. Killian looked horrified and went to help me up, but Ciaran stopped him, gripping his arm with one hand.

"What happened here?" Ciaran asked Iona calmly.

I managed to stand despite the main and my sobbing. I tried to rein it in, to hold some kind of power over her, but it was useless. I couldn't retaliate—not in front of Ciaran. If he knew how strong I really was, I would never get to leave. He would want me to stay here with him so he could train me, groom me to be his heir.

I would gladly take a thousand beatings from Iona before I let that happen.

"Your little girl here thought she could come at me," Iona said, rubbing her cheek as if my slap had had an effect on her.

"She was invading my privacy!" I shouted. "She was reading my book of shadows and waiting for me to get home so she could taunt me!"

Ciaran's eyes narrowed as he looked between us. "And where were you?"

"I was with a friend."

"Her boyfriend." Iona corrected. "Did he make you a woman tonight, little sister? Like you hoped he would?"

The rage I felt for her took over, clouded my senses and judgment, and I bound my sister, watching her eyes as she realized what I was doing. Frozen in fury she stared at me, her eyes gaining color and vibrancy for the first time in her life. If I let her go now, she would kill me, and we both knew it.

Kyle gasped, Killian sighed, and Ciaran laughed so easily, so joyously that I felt sick. Ciaran wrapped his arms around me, and I shook hard, feeling chilled through against his warm clothes and from what I had just done to my sister.

"I knew you had it in you, Morgan." He whispered. "I'm so proud."

A sob tore at my throat, and I glanced over Ciaran's shoulder to Iona. Closing my eyes, I whispered, "I release you," and it took only a second for Iona to jump up and grab me. Ciaran didn't stop her from her attack, seeming more disappointed in me than her, and walked out with Kyle as she had me on the ground, kicking me over and over until Killian was able to get her away.

"Leave her!" I heard him shout as she aimed a final kick at my ribs. I felt the crack and screamed at the pain, knowing that it would take weeks to heal compared to the bruises I was already forming.

Killian managed to drag her out, and I was left alone; broken, sobbing, and wanting to go home.

* * *

After my shower the next morning, I stared at myself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. I was black and blue all over my abdomen, my rib where Iona's boot-covered foot had struck it was the worst, and I flinched when I tried to towel off. I slipped on a loose-fitting white T-shirt and baggy navy blue sweatpants. Sleeping on the floor hadn't helped that aching one bit.

My lip was split and I had a black eye, which is remarkable since I didn't remember her touching my face in the frenzied attack, but I supposed it was easy to focus on other parts of my body that were being mutilated at the time.

I brushed my long hair, being gentle with the tangled strands. I didn't bother brushing my teeth.

I went down the stairs to the dining room, where everyone was eating. Iona was sitting between Ciaran and Kyle and smirked triumphantly as if they were her personal body guards. A faint red mark on her cheek was the only damage I'd managed to leave.

Killian couldn't look at me, and I couldn't blame him. My entire life he had been protective of me, and last night he had failed to save me from our sister.

"I'm okay," I assured him in a whisper as I sat down next to him. Killian gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

I reached for some toast and a strip of bacon, as much as I could stand to eat. Even with jam and butter, the bread was extra dry this morning. I had to break the food into tiny pieces so it wouldn't touch my bottom lip.

"Morgan," Ciaran spoke, startling me. All conversation had ceased before I'd come into the room.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I spoke with your mother this morning." He said, not sounding thrilled like he usually does when he talks to her. "We have you on a flight out tonight. Killian will drive you to the airport."

My eyes widened in alarm. I couldn't leave yet, not without talking to Hunter, telling him how to reach me. After last night, I couldn't let that be it. "But, Dad, I'm not—"

"Do not argue with me!" he yelled, his hazel eyes darkening. "Go up and pack."

He looked so deadly serious, and I knew better than to argue. Instead, I shoved away from the table and went up to my room, slamming the door behind me. I _hated_ him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for the reviews! And yes** **Cabiria1999, Hunter will be coming back, but not in the way you might think...** **Also I will never, ever make someone else besides Hunter be Morgan's soulmate. In my mind, he is the only right person for her.**

 **I will be starting on the next chapter but I can't guarantee when I will post it - it's very much on a burst-of-inspiration schedule.**

* * *

"I'm so sorry about Iona," Killian said for the fourth time. He was walking me through the airport; my bags had already been checked in. "I should've—"

I wrapped my arms around him and rested my face on his chest. His arms gingerly came around me, a little awkwardly since I had my carryon on my shoulder. "Killian, none of this was your fault, okay? I know how hard it was for you."

Killian pulled back and took my hands in his. "Look, Morgan, I don't know the right way to say this." He sighed, and I frowned. What was he thinking? "I think it best if you don't come back again." He concluded softly, and seeing the alarm on my face, he added, "Of course I want to see you, it's just that… Iona is losing her bloody mind, and you're competition to her, and the more you're around, the more praise Da gives you, the more Iona wants you dead. And I don't want that."

"I don't either." I murmured. "Will you come and visit at least? And I don't mean drunken escapades in the city that have you calling me up for a ride because your friends thought it'd be hilarious to drive upstate and mess with farm animals." He laughed from the memory of it. That night hadn't been the blast he remembered it as.

"I will visit." Killian promised. "You think Maeve will mind my couch bumming?"

"I think she expects it from you at this point," I replied with a grin, and he looked up at the departure board. "Time to go?" I guessed.

Killian nodded and hugged me one last time.

"Love you," he said squeezing me a little too tight.

"Love you." I replied, my throat tightening. I hated saying goodbye to him. But I knew it hurt him just as much, and that as soon as I turned, he would be taking off. He wasn't one for emotional goodbyes, and I didn't want to put him in that position.

So instead, I smiled at him briefly, readjusted my carryon and purse, and headed to my gate.

* * *

I felt ready to collapse as soon as I got to the arrivals area. Mom was standing, leaning against a pole, watching for me to come through. She smiled at me as I got to her, and I dropped my bags and wrapped my arms around her, crying on her shoulder.

"Shh, my love," she soothed, rubbing my back gently. "Let's get you home," she released me and pulled back enough to wipe the tears off my face.

On the drive home, a thunderstorm started to roll in. I never minded, and always loved to watch lightning from my bedroom window and feel the thunder rattle the floorboards. But today the dark, almost black clouds seemed menacing.

"Think it could be a tornado?" I asked as hail started smacking onto the windshield.

My mom sighed. "I will never understand your fascination with tornadoes." She said, shaking her head.

"I just want to see one—just once."

"Well if you get too close, that's all you'll ever see again."

I grinned at her, and she looked at me and sighed. Her hands were white knuckled on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. She liked watching thunderstorms, but she hated driving in them.

"Thoughts for dinner?"

"Can we just do pizza?" I asked, changing the radio from a basic pop station to the news. I wanted to hear the weather report. Mom nodded. "And ice cream." I added.

"…Reports of a funnel cloud being spotted near Albany have come in,"

"Ha!" I said triumphantly.

"Albany," she pointed out. "Not close enough to us for you to see it, Morgan."

I shrugged. "Still right, though."

Mom looked tense, but I had a feeling it had more to do with my situation than with the weather. All my life she feared my safety, and I never knew the exact reason why. I understood that she was an overprotective mother, but it seemed more than that. I've known about my introduction to the world since I was little and just starting to read her BOS. I knew that I had been a product of an affair—on both sides. Dad was married with three kids, and Mom had had a boyfriend that she had fled Ireland with.

From what I could get out of her, Angus had been killed by Ciaran. He would've killed her, too, if not for her telling him about me.

Many times in my life, usually after a Ciaran visit, Mom would be really upset and say things about how it would've been better if she'd died and I'd been adopted by a normal family. She would say how magick was never her plan for me. But, as she would then come to realize, you can't escape who you are. You can't run from it.

I was about three years old when she started teaching me how to use magick. We would start with simple spells for keeping plants alive or keeping the cats calm and happy—especially important as I had been overly energetic for a three-year-old and would be unintentionally rough with them. Then we would move on to memorizing runes and even dabbled a bit in tarot before I learned I wasn't that interested in it.

Every moment with my mom had been a blessing. Every moment with Ciaran was always scary, challenging. I always felt like he was assessing me, watching me for signs of greatness or mediocrity. I learned about his coven, Amyranth, when I was eleven. He had wanted me to come live with him in Scotland and learn to perfect my skills. He would always sit me down and tell me what was expected of me as a MacEwan witch and that I alone was his only child worthy of carrying on his legacy.

But his magick frightened me. It was dark. Ciaran was the true embodiment of a Woodbane witch—seeking power despite the damage it could do to others. Destruction was not for me. I wanted to help people and focus on light magick.

I knew that at some point, some far distant point in the future, my dark heritage was bound to catch up with me. As good as the Riordans were, they couldn't overcome the darkness. Especially not Ciaran's, not when he destroyed Mom's coven in Ireland with the dark wave.

I often wondered if Mom loved me completely. I knew she did, but the thought was always there. My father was her muirn beatha dan—her soulmate—yet he destroyed her life and killed her entire family. If she could love him still, then she had to love me. But the underlying hatred for him was what made me wonder about her love for me. I was half Ciaran, half MacEwan. I was a descendent of evil, power-tripping witches. I was a descendent of Rose MacEwan, who had created the dark wave.

"Morgan?" Mom said. "What are you thinking?" her concern brought me out of my thoughts, and I took her offered hand.

"I don't think I want to see Dad again."

She nodded as if she'd been thinking the same thing. "We'll work it out, okay love?"

"Okay."

Due to traffic and the storm and waiting for our pizza to be ready, it was an hour and a half before we were home. The windows were open, letting in the warm summer air mixed with the cool rain. It felt amazing.

I took off my shoes and sunk onto the couch, enjoying the claps of thunder that sounded like they were getting closer. Trixie—our twenty-plus-pound gray Persian cat—sneezed in annoyance at my intrusion of her space, and growled when I reached underneath her fluffy body for the remote.

Mom came in with the pizza and grocery bags and set the box on the coffee table in front of me. As she was putting food away in the kitchen, I called out, "Lifetime movie or horror movie?"

"What are the choices?"

"Um," I said, flipping through the movie channels and Lifetime. "Pill-popping teenager with oblivious parents or having a vision of a plane blowing up before it blows up and then dying anyway."

"I already have an issue with airplanes, so the first one." She replied, and then came out with plates, napkins, and Diet Coke.

I turned back to Lifetime and the movie had already started. Mom shushed an irritated Trixie as she picked her up and set the giant cat in her lap. As we ate and watched the movie, I could feel her gaze on me, shivering when my senses prickled at her trying to read my aura.

"Stop it," I huffed, flicking a tiny chunk of pizza crust at her. Trixie wiggled off of her lap and started rubbing against me. I hissed sharply when she head-butted my cracked rib, grabbing Mom's attention.

"Morgan." She said in a no-nonsense tone. Before I could reply, she lifted my shirt and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. "Who did this?"

"Iona." I whispered, wincing as she pulled my shirt back down. "Didn't Ciaran give you the full recap?" She shook her head, getting up to grab the phone. As she started dialing, I said, "It's three in the morning there."

Mom hit dial. "I really don't care, Morgan." She paced the room as she waited for the other line to pick up. "What did you tell me last night?" she demanded. "You said that she had had a disagreement with _your_ daughter and that she wanted to come home." I fed a piece of cheese to Trixie, and she purred, her amber eyes closing as she savored the nibble. "I sent you my daughter, I _trusted_ you with her, and she comes back _mutilated_! I don't care what I have to do for you, but I will do everything in my power to keep you away from _my_ child. Do you understand?"

As she hung up, I turned on the couch and sat on my knees to face her. "Mom?" I asked carefully. "You okay?"

She placed the phone in the cradle and then touched my face softly. "I'll get you some arnica for the bruising and call Wendy in the morning to have her come look at your ribs." She said, and I nodded. "Can I get you anything for the pain?"

"It doesn't hurt that much." I promised.

She nodded and brushed my hair back from my face. "He said you caught Iona reading your BOS?" I nodded. "Why would she do that?"

I sighed. "I think she was looking in it to see where I was going every day so she could rat me out to Ciaran, and then I think she enjoyed taunting me with it more than reporting on me."

"What could you possibly have written to let her taunt you?"

"I met someone." I said softly. "A guy I could've very easily fallen in love with, and she told Ciaran about it." I couldn't look at her as I said the next part. "I got so mad that I put a binding spell on her, and when Ciaran said how proud he was of me, I just felt so… ashamed. I felt dark, and evil, and I felt like it was something _he_ would do, so I took it off, and she came after me."

Mom leaned forward and kissed me softly on the cheek. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, hugging me. "What about the boy?"

I shook my head. "I didn't get to say goodbye."

She sighed sympathetically and stroked my long hair down my back, trying to comfort me.


	6. Chapter 6

**THANK GOD I CHECK AFTER I UPLOAD CHAPTERS!** **I'm such an idiot. I left my notes for this chapter at the top and uploaded it. If you see the notes, I fixed it so go ahead and refresh. Please review, even if it's to laugh at my error. So, so dumb of me.**

"Headache?" Alyce asked, coming around me to fill the plastic pamphlet holders with information about Samhain coming up.

"Right behind my eye." I confirmed, dabbing the essential oil blend I had concocted on my forehead and temple.

Alyce just laughed and went around to the front of the register to organize the counter. "You could bottle it—it would be a great seller."

"That's not a bad idea," I agreed, putting the cap back on the bottle and rubbing the remainder of the oils on my fingertips across the back of my neck.

When she was done and seemed pleased with her handiwork, she straightened and went to the door to unlock it and flipped the sign to OPEN. "It's still so warm for October," Alyce marveled, looking at the bright orange-leaved trees outside. "Almost cruel, knowing that winter is just around the corner."

I grinned at her. "It'll be spring before you know it."

Alyce smiled in response. "Do you mind working register today?" she asked.

I nodded. "Can you take care of ordering supplies? I think we're about tapped out on orange and black candles."

"And herbs and incense. I think we've been busier than normal this time of year." She commented, shaking her head as she made her way to the backroom.

"I wouldn't doubt it." I murmured to myself. I grabbed one of Alyce's carefully hand-folded pamphlets and set about reading it, waiting for customers to arrive. It was a Saturday, so I was expecting a long day in which I couldn't sit and read and instead had to interact with people.

By the time 10:30 rolled around, my mom strolled casually into the shop. She handed me a cup of hot spiced cider and a slice of pumpkin bread, which I gratefully accepted. Ten minutes that felt like an hour went by, and the jingling of brass bells over the entrance startled me—I hadn't felt anyone coming near the shop.

I assessed the incoming customers from my stool behind the register. Welcoming them didn't seem entirely necessary—they were kids, teenagers. The girl looked about my age, the guy slightly older, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Both were gorgeous, stunning to look at. She was tall with shoulder-length dark hair falling in layers to frame her picture-perfect face. The guy almost knocked the wind out of me. Besides being sexy in a carefree way, with choppy dark hair falling over his eyes, full lips in a natural smile even when resting, and clothes that appeared like he just rolled out of bed but somehow looked okay. I could feel power coming off of him in waves.

We had blood witches in here all the time, as we were the only full-stocked shop this far away from New York City. But it was rare to run into one this young here. I had resigned myself to being a spinster due to my lack of desire to leave my small town. And if I did end up meeting someone here, they would be just a regular person, and I could kiss the idea of children goodbye.

I sipped my rapidly cooling cider and pinched off a piece of soft pumpkin bread while watching the couple as they walked through the aisles, the girl giggling every now and then. The girl, though very pretty, was average. She wasn't a witch, which made me wonder why he was with her. Could he be with her for her looks? In all fairness, she very well could be interested in Wicca and wants him to teach her. Or, from the look of him, he could've chosen her not only for her beauty but to also hold all the power.

I stood up straight and pulled down the hem of my sweater as the couple came to the register several minutes later.

"Find what you were looking for?" I asked, glancing between the two.

She nodded; he stared at me, almost as if trying to figure me out. My eyes narrowed and I shut him out as I felt him casting his senses to me. A flicker of surprise sparked in his eyes at my refusal of him. The witches I'd grown up around knew that I was a private person and tried to keep from prying—both from my mother being their high priestess and my being a "moody" teenager. The fact that this guy had the audacity to try and read me made irritation course through me. When I read people, it's subtle and from a distance. I never imposed myself on another witch.

"Ooh, I like your necklace," the girl said, glancing at the stone resting against my chest while she set their items on the counter. "Where'd you get it?"

Absently, I grabbed the chunk of wire-wrapped garnet in my hand. "Thanks," I said. "I made this one, but we have a few tables of stones and crystals and a jewelry section towards the back."

"I didn't see that," she replied, then turned towards her partner. "Cal, do you mind waiting real quick?"

"Sure." He said with an easy smile.

"I can show you, if you want." I offered, and was thankful when she accepted. I didn't particularly want to be alone with _Cal_.

She seemed almost in awe of all the stones, organized alphabetically per my insistence—Mom and Alyce had wanted them sorted by property and color, but as I was the one who constantly had to put back the tags careless customers had knocked down and fill the trays in the first place, I had won that argument.

"I had no idea these actually serve a purpose. I just always thought they were pretty." She said as she raked her fingers lightly through a tray of Amethyst.

"They're both," I agreed. She read the description of the Amethyst, and then moved on. "Looking for something in particular?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know, this is all so new to me, but it's… fascinating." She looked to me as if for approval, and I nodded. "What's your stone for?"

"Garnet?" I asked, and then led her down to the G's. "It helps dispel negative energies, relieves depression and past traumas, helps balance your mood, and enhances sexuality."

"Does it really work?"

"For me it does." I said. "There's a stone for everything."

She glanced back to the register quickly. "So say I wanted to enhance someone's attraction to me, what would I use?" she dropped her voice as she asked this.

I bit my lip. "It depends." I said slowly. "Purely for sex or do you want him to fall in love with you?"

She looked uncomfortable, and I knew it was the latter. As confident and self-assured as she had seemed before, she looked wholly fragile and vulnerable now. "Rose quartz is great for pure love and for opening yourself up to love." I said softly. "But Garnet is the way to go for immediate results." She nodded at the implication. She found one about the size of a quarter and held it in her palm. "I wouldn't recommend wearing it every day—sleep with the rose quartz under your pillow, and I would alternate garnet with an amethyst. It can be a pretty powerful stone if you're not used to its magickal properties."

She chose a stone from each of the trays I listed. "Would it be easier to just buy a necklace already made?"

"Easier, yes, but less effective."

"Okay," she seemed to accept this answer. "Is this book any good?" she asked, picking up the display copy of Meredith Drake's Crystal & Stone Magick.

I made a face, and she laughed and set it back down. "It's not my favorite, and I met her in New York after this had been published. She's a hack—it's basically bullet points with pretty pictures. Think _Magick for Dummies_." I bent down to one of the half bookshelves and pulled out a new copy of Elsie Ferndale's Guide to Crystal  & Stone Healing. "Elsie knows her stuff." I handed her the book, and she flipped through it. "It gives extensive descriptions, properties, and uses, as well as spells to perform with each."

"Wow," she murmured to herself. "There's so much to learn, I don't think I'll ever get it."

My heart broke a little at her dismissal of her abilities. "I can help, if you'd like." I offered. "I've been practicing Wicca all my life, and while I don't know everything, I know a lot."

She smiled. "Thanks. I really appreciate that."

I returned her smile. "I'm Morgan, by the way."

"Bree."

We walked back to the register and I added the stones and her book into her purchase.

"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" Bree asked.

"My mom's coven is having a circle and I usually go."

Bree glanced up at Cal, and he seemed to understand her silent question. "We just started a coven a few weeks ago," Cal started to say. "Think you might want to come check it out?"

My eyes flicked to Cal. "If you keep your mind to yourself." I said pointedly, and he looked mildly embarrassed.

"Sorry," he apologized with a self-deprecating grin. "It's a habit when I meet people."

"What time are you off?" Bree asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Six."

She smiled. "Cool. We can pick you up here and go? I'll give you a ride home."

"Sure."

They exited, Bree leaving with a wave and Cal throwing a last, odd look at me.

* * *

When we arrived at the house the circle was being held in, I walked into a situation I never would've imagined. Kids, regular teenagers, sitting around to practice a circle. It was so…bizarre. They were so ordinary, yet as I spoke to them, got their feelings for Wicca and their genuine interest, I realized how wrong I had been. I had judged them before I'd even met them.

Cal was the leader I assumed as he was the only other blood witch present. He had such a cool, easy authority with his peers and it was easy to imagine him as a cult leader—charming, confident, and deadly persuasive. A perfect face with a sense of calm and grace unlike anything I'd ever seen.

Bree introduced me to everyone in the coven, and I tried hard to remember their names, but as soon as we were forming the circle, most were gone from my memory.

As the circle started and I stood between Bree and a boy named Robbie, I felt my energy rise and tried to damp it down. Getting swept up in a circle with strangers was not the ideal—not when I had problems grounding myself. It had gotten so bad for a while that before my initiation, Mom had helped me put a limitation spell on myself. The intense wave of energy I conjured scared the both of us, and as much as I wanted to embrace it, my power frightened me. Mom never let her hear show, but I knew it affected her. She was almost more afraid _for_ me than afraid _of_ me. It was the difference of being a child of Maeve and a child of Ciaran—both exceedingly powerful; one good, and one evil. I was on a constant tightrope over pools of right and wrong, waiting to lose my balance and fall into one side versus the other.

My eyes stayed centered on Cal as we walked in a circle, gaining speed. The top three buttons of Cal's shirt were opened, and I could see smooth tan skin with a pentacle charm centered at the base of his throat. He looked so familiar and ethereal and peaceful. I could swear I knew him from somewhere.

My mind continued to swim as the circle reached maximum speed, and the revelation of Cal was shadowed by one singular thought: banish limitations. Those two words were all I could think, and as I lost my focus on Cal. My vision blurred and the thoughts rushed to the surface. I felt them slip from my lips in a dizzying whisper and lost their hands, falling to the ground outside of the circle.

I felt all the tension leave my body as I breathed out the last few tendrils of the carefully crafted limitation spell. This had been a serious mistake. I got to my knees, palms resting on the floor as I grounded myself.

When I looked up moments later, the circle had been taken down—some members were laughing, a light layer of sweat covering their faces, looking energized and happy. No one had noticed my little show except for one.

Cal had the most extraordinary expression on his face. He was in awe.


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter contains lines from book 1,** _ **Book of Shadows**_ **, pages 171-174.**

* * *

"Morgan!"

I looked up in surprise as Cal called my name from across the street. I was sitting on my porch, carving pumpkins and eating candy by the handfuls.

"Hi," I said back, frowning. "How'd you know where I live?"

Cal came up the steps and leaned against the railing. "I went in to Practical Magick, and Alyce told me where to find you." He said with a confident grin. "We didn't really get to speak much after the circle the other night. I wanted to talk to you about it."

I jabbed the tiny orange blade into the pumpkin flesh and started to saw through the shape I'd drawn on. "Yeah, it was kind of intense," I murmured, focusing on cutting the eyes out. "Do you want to sit?" I asked, moving the bowl of candy to my other side.

Cal sat down next to me and grabbed a small, hollowed-out pumpkin that I hadn't carved into yet. "May I?" he asked as he grabbed the only other unbroken tiny plastic saw from the package. I nodded. "I thought you did really well—everyone really liked you."

I stopped carving and stared at him. "Really?"

His golden eyes flicked to me in surprise. "Yeah, why wouldn't they?"

My focus shifted from his eyes to his full lips and a shiver passed through me. I was completely aware of his close proximity, of his warmth and ease of being able to fit into any situation. Cal was very different from the guys I'd known. I had my brothers, I had older men in the coven who I held no attraction for and had seen me awkwardly grow up, and I had had only one romantic encounter in my life with a guy I knew I'd never see again. So this…interaction, or whatever it was, was catching me off guard, and I wasn't sure if I could handle it.

Cal waited for me to answer him patiently. Finally, I cleared my throat and said, "I barely said a word and remember like…three names." I rolled my eyes. "They probably think I'm some weirdo you picked up off the street."

He shook his head. "Not at all." He swore with absolute sincerity. "In fact, we're having a circle tomorrow night for Samhain, and we all want you there. We want to get to know you more."

"Really?" I asked doubtfully.

"Really." He made a face and laughed, pausing from his carving. "Maybe not Raven or Beth, but everyone else."

I bit my lip, thinking. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please come, Morgan." He continued on the pumpkin, perfecting the tiny details into the flesh. "I think you'll really like being a part of our coven."

My mom's car pulled into the driveway and I set my finished pumpkin to the side and wiped my hands off on a dish towel. "Okay." I told him. I unwrapped a watermelon Dum Dum and offered him the bowl of candy. He picked out a grape Laffy Taffy. "Where at?"

"I'll call you with the details." He said.

"You don't have my number." I challenged. "Unless Alyce gave that to you, too."

Cal laughed. "No." he grabbed the pen I had used to trace the stencil and offered it to me along with his left hand. I took the pen and scribbled down my number, feeling tiny sparks of heat where our hands touched. When I was done, Cal took the pen and with his other hand reached out to brush a strand of hair back behind my ear.

Mom came up the steps and Cal dropped his hand. "Hello," she said warmly, then looked at me and huffed when she saw the sucker in my mouth. "Morgan, save _some_ for the children."

I nodded, biting the candy into tiny pieces in my mouth. "Did you get another bag?" I asked, nodding to the two brown grocery bags in her arms.

"Yes, because I know you." She shook her head at me and looked back at Cal.

"Mm, Mom, this is Cal." I introduced, pointing the now candy-less white stick in his direction. "Cal, this is my mom, Maeve Riordan."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, flashing a smile up at her. To me, he said, "I should probably get going. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

I took the completed pumpkin from him and stood to set it on the patio table with the others. "See you," I called as he walked down the walkway. He turned and gave a wave, and then continued on to his gold Explorer.

Mom stood there assessing me, and I took one of the bags from her and opened the screen door so we could go inside.

"He was nice," she commented, following me into the kitchen. The screen door slammed shut behind her. "Cute, too."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, unloading the bag into the fridge and pantry.

Mom unloaded her bag and set a package of chicken next to the stove. "So who was he?"

I grabbed a pot and filled it with some water and set it on the stove to boil for rice. "I met him at the shop a few days ago—I was at their circle Saturday night." I said as nonchalantly as I could manage. As the water boiled, I filled a measuring cup with rice and poured it in the pot and covered it with a lid. Mom heated up a frying pan and set the pre-seasoned chicken inside. After I turned down the heat, I hopped up on the counter and grabbed a bag of chips to snack on.

"You'll ruin your appetite." She chided me.

I took an exaggerated bite and crunched slowly. "He was asking if I wanted to spend tomorrow night with his coven."

"Are you going to?"

I shrugged and took a few more from the bag. "I'm thinking about it." I admitted. "I just can't help but feel like a freak show—he and I are the only blood witches there."

Mom turned the chicken after a minute. "Sweetheart, I think it's good for you to interact with people your age, even if they aren't blood witches." She sighed softly. "I rarely had the chance to be around others. Belwicket wanted to remain pure and wouldn't accept non-blood witches into the coven, even though our numbers were dwindling. I don't want you to have those same prejudices."

"I agree."

* * *

I pulled my black sweater dress into place and stared in my full-length mirror, unsure of my outfit. Mom had insisted that the dress was long enough, but I had my doubts. Even with thigh-high black socks, the two inches of pale skin that were visible made me feel exposed. I sat down on my bed to put on my boots and contemplated staying in for the night.

If Samhain wasn't one of the most important sabbats for a witch, I would've skipped. But it was, and I was semi-dressed, and I had committed to going to join Cal's coven for the circle.

After my boots were zipped and I talked myself out of changing, I went to the door and opened it, kicking my discarded clothing out of the way. Downstairs, I blew out all the candles and made sure the stove was turned off and the leftovers from dinner were put away. I tossed a few treats to Trixie, who had been eyeing me from the kitchen counter. She purred happily.

I brought the empty candy bowl in from the top porch step, rolling my eyes at the tattered "take 1" sign I'd made in a futile attempt to implement rules on Halloween. The candles in the jack o' lanterns had already blown out. I locked the front door and went out to my car. The night air was chilly, and I was thankful my heater turned on quickly.

Cal's directions would have been clear enough to anyone living in Widow's Vale, but I didn't, so inevitably it took me a little longer to get there than expected. Cars were parked along a field, and I pulled in behind Cal's explorer. I took the apples and flowers I had bought earlier in the day out of the backseat and made my way up through the cemetery, feeling the hem of my dress hike up with every step.

"Morgan!" Bree greeted me with a hug and took the bag of apples from my hand. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Me too." I replied, trying to mirror her enthusiastic smile.

I followed her up to Cal and the rest of the coven, where flowers, fruits and vegetables, leaves, and candles were elegantly arranged on the sarcophagus serving as the altar. Bree and I added my contribution, and Cal smiled his thanks.

We all gathered in the middle as two girls—I think their names were Jenna and Raven—were drew the circle. Once finished the stood back and joined the rest of us standing just within the boundaries of the purified circle. Cal came around with a small bottle and drew pentacles on our foreheads with the tip of his finger in the salt water.

When he finished, he took his place in the circle. "Tonight we're here to form a new coven," he said. "We gather to celebrate the Goddess and the God, to celebrate nature, to explore and create and worship magick, and to explore the magickal powers both within ourselves and without ourselves."

I'd heard his words in varying degrees all my life, but his version of them had new meaning for me. I had never been a part of a coven from its beginning—my mom had joined an already existing coven when I was three, and I had started participating in circles when I was about six and the only other kid was thirteen and about to be initiated.

But I was excited about what was to come in this circle with people who were genuinely interested in Wicca even though they hadn't been born into it like Cal and I had. I was excited to perform magick in a circle where I didn't have to limit myself.

"Anyone who wishes not to be of this coven, please break the circle now," Cal said. No one moved. "Welcome. Merry meet and blessed be. As we gather, so we'll be. The ten of us have found our haven, here within the Cirrus coven."

I looked around the faces of my new coven members and felt insecurity creeping into the forefront of my mind. With the exception of Cal, these kids had known each other all their lives. I was nothing to them; I didn't owe them anything, and they certainly didn't owe me anything. They didn't have to include me. Yet as I stood among them, in between them, I felt a connection to these strangers that was stronger than anything I'd ever been a part of.

"Eight of you will now be inducted as novitiates, students of this coven," Cal explained. "Morgan and I will teach you what we know, then together we can seek out new teachers to take us further on our journey."

I stared at him, bewildered. He didn't acknowledge me as a student like he had the others; he had acknowledged me as a teacher like him. Cal smiled at me as if aware of my thoughts and took the hands of those on either side of him.

The rest of us joined hands, and Cal began the chant as we moved deasil around our circle.

"Tonight we bid the God farewell,

In the Underground he'll dwell.

Till his rebirth in springtime's sun,

But for now his life is done.

"We dance beneath the Blood Moon's shine,

This chant we'll sing to number nine.

We dance to let our heart's love flow,

To aid the Goddess in her sorrow."

I counted as we danced around the circle, and we chanted nine times. My unease dissipated as we moved, chanting, our heart beats and breath mingling with combined effort. This was magick—this was the blessed feeling I had always craved during a circle. This was the rush of energy I had always known was lacking when working with others.

This was absolutely glorious.

With one last burst of sound our circle stopped, and we threw our arms skyward. I felt a rush of energy whirling around me, making me feel dizzy, disoriented. But as my eyes focused, as I felt myself sink to the dirt to ground myself, I felt my magick—all of my magick—rush through me and almost cried out in relief.

Too long I had been reined; how had I even survived without this feeling, this ability, this rightness to the universe and the Goddess herself?

Thanks to Cal, for the first time in sixteen years, I was _alive_.

And I loved him for it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Reviews for this chapter or the previous chapters would be so lovely! I hope you all enjoy this installment, and I'll be working hard to get the next one out ASAP!**

* * *

It was about three am when the fire went out, the candles' wax consuming the flames. The bright moon was drifting westward, waiting for the approaching sunrise. The ten of us, now of Cirrus, had dismantled the circle and sat around on the ground and atop tombstones, eating sweets Sharon, Ethan, and Matt had provided and talking about our hopes and aspirations for the coven.

As the light went out, Cal and I continued to sit, transfixed on the brightness of the stars. Pleiades had already risen before sunset last night, and in sixth months, on Beltane, I would stay up until dawn to watch it rise again.

"What're you two looking at?"

Cal and I tore our gazes from the endless sky and saw Bree standing there, only visible with my magesight. "Star gazing," Cal said easily, gesturing upward.

Bree looked up but seemed not to understand why we would be out here in the cold to look at stars in the middle of the night. "Okaaaaay," she said, and then giggled in an adorable way. "I'm taking off—everyone already left but you guys were off in your own world."

I looked around the now empty graveyard. One minute we had been sitting around, enjoying each other's company, and the next minute I was suspended in time by the light of the moon and the stars.

"Wow," Cal laughed. "Sorry Bree, we must've lost track of time." He stood up gracefully and made his way over to her. He hugged her, and she raised her eyebrows at him as if expecting more. "I'll see you at school Monday? Or, you know, I'm always free if you have questions or want to study."

Bree smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'll see you at school." Her tone was one of mild disappointment. To me she said, "Morgan, I'm having the girls over tomorrow afternoon. Want to come hang out?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." I said, hoping I didn't sound too eager. Female friends were harder for me to come by than male friends.

Bree dug in her purse for a notepad and pen, and then scribbled down her number and address and handed the torn sheet of paper to me. "See you tomorrow."

I smiled and folded up the piece of paper. "Bye," I told her as she started to make her way back to the cars.

Cal sat down next to me again. "Play date tomorrow?"

I laughed. "Jealous?"

"A little," he said with a grin. "But only because they get to spend time with you."

My eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Cal's hand brushed my hair back from my face with the gentlest of movements, and then trailed down my jaw, turning my chin towards him. My breath caught in my throat at the look in his eyes, made almost black by the darkness.

"Do you have any idea how amazing you are?"

I gnawed on my lower lip. "You haven't even seen me perform any real magick. I get caught up in circles—big deal."

"So what can you do?" he challenged, his hand on my thigh, fingertips stroking the exposed skin.

"Anything." I said confidently. "But I won't."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't really know how to answer that." I told him honestly. I sighed and added, "I have… morals."

Cal busted up laughing after a moment, and I was sure the sound of it could wake the dead all around us. "Witches don't have morals that prohibit them from performing magick."

"I do." I insisted. "My…family. Um, they aren't all good. When I do big spells, I always feel like I'm being power hungry, that I'm acting like my father and not my mom. I just don't like to compromise what I've been working for all my life."

"Working for?" he asked, playing with the tips of my hair resting near my elbow.

"I just want to be a good person, a good witch," I felt vulnerable with him sitting close to me, touching me in almost intimate ways, giving me attention I didn't know what to do with. "I don't trust myself enough to perform the more intense spells."

Cal leaned forward quickly and kissed me. My eyes stayed wide open, my lips were unmoving. I was in shock. There was no other way to describe it. Cal's hands gripped my waist and he stood up, bringing me with him. My shock subsided ever so slightly and he backed me up against a tombstone and sat me down on it, standing between my legs so he could kiss me more firmly.

When I responded to his kiss, I didn't feel the sparks like I had with Hunter.

Maybe that was because that had been my first kiss—ever. Maybe it was because I had felt a soul-deep connection with him. Cal was confident, sexy, and so aware of his effect on me. He was the pursuer, and I was his target, his prey.

Cal's hand slipped under the hem of my dress and worked the band of my underwear down, his other arm lifting me slightly off the tombstone. I didn't stop him, feeling trapped in a heady cage of confusing lust. I watched in disbelief as he dropped my underwear to the ground and pulled me closer to him and kissed me again. I felt his eagerness, his readiness against me through his pants, and I pulled away.

"We can't screw in a graveyard, Cal!" I hissed. "It's disrespectful to the dead." I argued in a futile attempt to save face, my breath coming hard and fast as reality shocked me like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head.

 _Why did I let this happen?_

"Because they're dead and can't get off?" he laughed, dragging me back into his kiss, his warmth, the indescribable feeling of pleasure as he touched where no one had before.

A moan escaped me as I pulled my lips away from his, my hands moving from his hair to his shoulders to push him back a bit. "I can't."

Cal seemed to register my words and my actions and pulled his hand away. "Are you a virgin?" he asked quietly, his hands holding me by my waist. I held my legs together tightly, feeling exposed without my underwear.

I nodded. "I'm sorry. Didn't really have the chance to tell you."

He chuckled softly and kissed me on the lips. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have jumped you like that."

"Just give me a warning next time? I can't really think straight around you," I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat with blush. "You could easily corrupt me—God, I don't even know your last name."

"Blaire."

I let out a deep breath, processing the new information and the last few crazy minutes with a clear head. "Well, Cal Blaire," I said, my face and neck on fire with unintended lust combined with mortification I will never live down. "I should get home." I hopped off the tombstone and straightened my dress. Cal very slyly reached down and grabbed my discarded black underwear and handed them to me.

Okay, now my humiliation was complete.

"Do you want help bringing stuff to your car?" I offered, though I had a strong desire to get the hell out of there.

Cal shook his head and kissed me quickly. "I have it taken care of. Get home safely."

I nodded. "Night," I grabbed my small purse off one of the tombstones and made my way to the car.

"Night." He called after me.

* * *

I had been a zombie at work. But in my defense, my mother had been evil enough to schedule me to open at nine in the morning.

By two-thirty, I was heading into Widow's Vale to go to Bree's house. When I pulled up and saw her BMW parked in the driveway along with a few other cars, I turned around and went home, guilt overcoming me.

I had almost slept with her boyfriend the night before.

 _Cal_ , I thought, and then saw his Explorer when I was pulling into my driveway. He acknowledged my awareness of him by coming over and opening my door for me once I had cut the engine. As I was getting out, he bent down and kissed me quickly on the lips, and I pulled back a bit.

"We can't do this." I said flatly, moving us out of the way so I could close my door and lock up.

"Do what?" he asked, his golden eyes flashing as he peered down at me.

I gestured between us. "I really want to be friends with Bree—I can't do that if I steal you from her." I explained, leaving him to go down the walkway and up the porch steps. Cal followed.

"We're not dating, Morgan. Bree is a friend." I turned back from the screen door and gave him an oh-come-on look, but he shook his head. "We met at school and she wanted to join the coven with the others and learn about magick—that's all."

"So you've never taken her on a date, or kissed her, or done anything intimate with her? Never showed any romantic feelings for her?" I challenged.

Cal groaned. "No—we've slept together once, but that's it."

"You've had sex with her?" I demanded, needing clarification. I knew I had to watch myself here—not only was I treading dangerous ground, I was considering being with someone who may already have a girlfriend. A girlfriend he's already made love with.

"Once," he said coolly. "And it wasn't anything exciting or memorable." I stared at him in disbelief, and he must've realized the callousness of his words because he added quickly, "I don't mean to be harsh—it was just sex to me. It felt good, but there was no emotional tie there except for in the moment. You know what I'm talking about." He huffed and looked down as he remembered that I definitely did not have first-hand knowledge of what he was describing. "It's an expression of happiness, joy, and our right to have pleasures—it doesn't have to be muddled down with feelings."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "I don't want to be with anyone that way unless I love him." I argued, crossing my arms over my chest. "That's not what I do, and that's certainly not who I am. I need to be able to trust someone before I can even think about _joining them_ in that way, and right now, Cal, the things you're saying are making it really hard for me to trust you."

"I want to earn your trust, Morgan." He said, mustering up as much sincerity as he was capable in that moment. "I want us to be together—leading the coven as one, joining ourselves together… Morgan, I know you felt it, too." he spoke softly, shifting himself closer to me until he could take my hands away from my chest and hold them in his gentle yet unyielding grip. "When the circle stopped, and we threw our hands in the air, and you were grounding yourself—I felt that connection to you."

I sighed, looking away from him. "You don't know anything about me, Cal."

His warm fingers went to my chin to pull my face towards him. "Then let me get to know you." He whispered, leaning down to press his lips against mine. I didn't refuse, though part of me knew I should have.

* * *

"Breakfast?"

"Diet Coke and Poptarts."

Cal snorted. "That's disgusting."

"It's really no different than people drinking sweet coffee with a donut!" I argued, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.

We were in my living room watching a few of my favorite horror movies. About an hour in to the second movie Cal had started asking me simple questions—my favorite color, favorite band, favorite flower, what I liked and didn't like. It was almost like a game, but when I would try to ask him some questions, he would turn it back on me.

"So how'd you get a job at Practical Magick?" he asked, biting into a large slice of pepperoni pizza.

I cleared my throat with a sip of soda and sat back against the arm of the couch to face him more easily. "My mom actually owns the shop."

"Nepotism?"

I shrugged. "A little, but if I didn't have my act together, she would've made me stay in school instead of work."

"You don't go to school?" he asked, seeming surprised.

"Nope. As soon as I turned sixteen, I was out and taking GED classes."

Cal set his plate down on the coffee table and wiped his hands off with a paper towel. "What made you decide to do that?"

"I just didn't feel like school was doing anything for me," I said simply. "And I was never planning on college, so I just figured this route made more sense."

He nodded, understanding. "So how did she get the shop? My mom said that she had been to Practical Magick in… 1980, I think, and it was owned by someone else."

"Yeah, um, the original owner was having financial troubles, and rather than going to a bank or an outside investor, she sold it to my mom." I shifted my position as it started to hurt my back. Cal pulled me close to him and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "My mom had already been working there, and she was able to get the money for it—she owns the whole building, actually. All the apartments upstairs. That was when I was about four."

"So your future is pretty much set?"

I grinned. "Well, I don't think I'll be out of a job or a place to live anytime soon."

Cal kissed my forehead, and then we settled in close together to finish the movie marathon.


	9. Chapter 9

"Where are you off to?" My mom asked as I changed my outfit for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

I pulled an initially rejected black long-sleeved crop top over my head and fished my hair out so I could adjust it properly. With high-waisted skinny jeans, I didn't look too bad. I wasn't particularly comfortable with showing a couple of inches of my abdomen, but I could only do so much when my mother was the one buying my clothes. She had a good sense of style, was always on trend, so to have me—that would gladly wear plaid and worn out jeans on a daily basis—was a mild disappointment to her.

"Meeting up with Cal and his friends and seeing a movie." I explained, sitting on the edge of my unmade bed to lace up my boots. These combat boots were my one luxury item, and I chose them for almost every outfit she picked for me based solely on the fact that she hated them with every fiber of her being.

She bristled as she watched me. "You have so many nice pairs of shoes," she objected. "I have boots with a heel that would look great."

I snorted and tied the laces. "You're insane, lady. There's a foot of snow on the ground!"

"The roads have been plowed." Mom argued, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Here, yes, but maybe not where I'm going." I stood and went to my full-length mirror, trying to tug the top down a little bit more.

Mom pulled my hands away before I could do too much damage to the fabric. "Do you want to eat dinner now or when you get home?"

"I'll just binge on popcorn. Thanks, though." I ran my fingers through my hair, realizing with annoyance that it was a lost cause to try and get the tight, slept-on waves out.

Mom cleared her throat and stepped away just long enough to grab something from her bathroom. She came back in and took my face in her hand to put lipstick and mascara on me. I looked back in the mirror when she was done and marveled at just how much a difference long eyelashes and dark red lips made.

"Thanks," I said, running the tip of my finger around my bottom lip to pick up any excess.

She smoothed my hair down my back and kissed my cheek. "Have fun tonight."

I smiled at her as she retreated from my tornado-stricken bedroom. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and with a panic realized I was going to be seriously late.

* * *

One of the very few things I had accepted from my father was my car. On my sixteenth birthday, my mom had taken me to the DMV to take my driving test and when I got home, a car was being delivered into the driveway. Mom had signed for it, and she then proceeded to call Ciaran and ask him about it. It was about that time that the realization struck me that Ciaran didn't care what I had to say or what I wanted—I had asked for a Jetta, so naturally, Ciaran had bought me an over-the-top, top of the line, dark blue Mercedes SUV.

I had wanted to roll the damn thing off a cliff the first time I saw it.

But then I had sat in the driver's seat, felt the enticing draw of the seat warmer, and had learned all the controls in a matter of minutes. I was angry that I loved this car—I had wanted something normal, inconspicuous, but my father was neither of those things, and I should've remembered that when I had accepted the offer of a car in the first place.

I pulled into Cal's driveway about twenty-five minutes later and my jaw dropped—his house was _enormous_ , basically a mansion, and made almost entirely out of stone. I parked behind one of a dozen or so cars and the second my feet made contact with the freshly-fallen snow, I knew I'd been right about wearing my boots.

The steps leading up to the wide wooden door were icy, and I slid a few times, catching myself before I could lose balance. Cal opened the door a few seconds after I had knocked and kissed me hello.

"Hi," I said after our lips had parted.

"Come in," he said, sweeping his arm out to the side. "Let me give you the grand tour." I nodded, smiling.

The "tour" was basically the downstairs part of the house leading to the kitchen where Matt, Jenna, Sharon, and Ethan were already hanging out. Jenna was on the phone, Matt was drinking seltzer, zoning out completely. Sharon and Ethan were bickering like they'd been married for sixty years. I wondered how long they'd been dating.

As Jenna hung up she said, "It starts at eight-fifteen, so we should probably leave here about seven forty-five."

Cal looked at his watch. "Cool, we still have a little bit of time. Morgan," he said, and I looked up at him. "There's someone I want you to meet." He laced his fingers with mine and said to everyone, "We'll be right back."

I followed him through a series of large, grand rooms that all three bedrooms and the living room of my house could fit in. The first room was formal, elegantly arranged, the others were more casual and only one had a TV in it. When we arrived at a tall wooden door, Cal tapped on it twice and then let us inside.

I have never been without anything. Mom and I didn't live in excess like Ciaran did, but we were happy in our moderately-sized house. We had our own rooms, a workroom for Mom, a large den that had been converted into a circle room, and a small living room and kitchen. It worked for us.

But seeing Cal's exquisitely designed home shot a tendril of envy through me.

Cal walked me through the circle room, past maybe fifteen or twenty witches, and then stopped behind someone. As she turned, I almost gasped. She was _stunning_ ; long dark hair, tanned skin, and eyes the same strange shade of gold. This was his mother. She was dressed in a long, loose robe in a spectacular shade of red with gold suns, stars, and moons painted on. I thought of my own robe in a pale lavender shade and felt it was childish and girly where hers was strong and womanly.

"Morgan, this is my mother, Selene Belltower."

"Hello, Morgan," she said with a smile.

I tried to smile in return but felt frozen as she assessed me. This woman was no joke—her power, I'm sure, could rival Ciaran's any day.

I cleared my throat, trying not to be a total idiot, and said, "Nice to meet you."

"I look forward to getting to know you." Selene said sincerely. "Cal, I want you to meet someone," she said, looking to her left. My gaze followed theirs and I saw a tall, slender girl with brilliantly bright blonde hair.

Cal seemed transfixed, and I felt tension flow over him in slow, dull waves. I followed them across the room to her.

"Sky, this is my son, Cal Blaire." Selene said. "Cal, this is Sky Eventide."

Cal pulled his hand from mine and held it out to her. She shook it, her dark, almost black eyes appraising him. There was something about her that made me uneasy—I didn't feel hatred, not quite that extreme, but my sense of distrust was on alert.

Cal, almost as if just remembering I was even there, took his hand back and put his arm around my waist. "This is my girlfriend, Morgan Riordan."

 _Girlfriend_. My eyes narrowed slightly at the association—I hadn't thought we were to that point yet.

After several tense seconds, Sky and I shook hands. "Morgan," she said, then gave me a brief up-and-down assessment, almost as if to see if my name complimented my appearance. But then I felt the slightest prickle on the back of my neck and felt irritation and anger storm through me. It was so subtle that any other witch wouldn't have picked up on her doing it, but I wasn't any other witch.

I pulled my hand back from hers and crossed my arms over my relatively flat chest. I was so annoyed and just wanted to go back to the others and leave for the theater.

Sky looked across her shoulder and nodded to someone to come over. "Cal," she said, bringing her attention back to him as she waited for this unseen witch to come join us. "I believe you know Hunter,"

I felt my heart stop as she said the name. _Hunter_ , I thought with a pang of regret. It couldn't be him—there was just no way. But then as he made his way through the crowd of robe-covered witches, and my eyes caught his light, white blonde hair, his height, and as he got closer, his forest-green eyes.

"Yes," Cal said flatly. "I know Hunter." His voice was odd, not warm and charming like it usually was.

Despite my confusion, I couldn't stop myself from saying, "Hi."

Hunter seemed surprised to see me, his eyes widening, and for a moment looked happy to see me—but it was quickly replaced with cold calculation, distrust, accusation as he saw me standing next to Cal.

"Morgan," he said stiffly, and then turned looked away from me. "Cal." He said, and I was thankful that at least the greeting he gave Cal sounded harsher.

Had I hurt him that bad when I left? Is that why he was acting this way with me? Whatever it was, as much as I wanted to know why he seemed angry with me, I knew that I wouldn't get answers tonight with Cal standing here.

"Cal, we have to go. The movie," I said, grabbing his hand.

Cal looked down at me, and then nodded. "Yes." Then he looked at Sky and Hunter, and said, "Have a good circle."

"We will." She responded.

I shot a final look at Hunter and turned for the door, hearing Cal's footsteps a few paces behind.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Cal whispered as we settled into our seats. The movie had been nearly sold out, so the six of us were scattered. Cal had managed to charm a girl into moving over so we could sit next to each other.

I dug my hand into his popcorn bag and grabbed a small handful. "With Hunter?" I asked, popping a few kernels into my mouth.

"Yeah." He replied, his normally lovely, soothing voice had an edge to it. Hunter must've been a sore spot for him.

"I met him over the summer—nothing more than that." I lowered my voice as I got hushed by the couple sitting in front of us. "How do you know him?"

Cal sighed and draped his arm over my shoulders, pulling me as close as possible with the arm rest in the way. "I met him a while ago. He's an ass, Morgan. Just not a good guy at all."

I frowned. Hunter had been nothing but wonderful to me—I had trusted him so easily, so implicitly, and knew deep down that Cal wasn't telling me everything. Something major had to have happened between them for him to say that.

I leaned up to whisper in his ear, "Why do you think that?"

The second preview had started with a loud bang, making me jump. Cal looked uncomfortable and tried to focus on the screen, but I was persistent. I tugged on his shirt, and he glanced down at me.

"He's a Seeker for the council, Morgan." He spat. "He's here to investigate my mother. So please trust me when I say he's not good."

His words sent shockwaves through me.

All my life, I had known about Seekers. They were spies, hall monitors for Wicca, causing problems for witches wherever they went. One of my mom's former coven members, in fact, had been accused of cutting her daughter and using the blood to enact disgusting, horrifying rituals to increase her own power. She had been innocent—the daughter had been doing it to herself, giving her blood to enhance her fertility—but she took responsibility for the rites and accepted the punishment in the form of having her powers stripped.

The council was almost always sticking their noses where they didn't belong. They ruined witches' lives all the time—even for the most trivial of things. After seeing firsthand what Seekers do—hunting down witches, holding them with a braigh; _torturing_ them.

And the first person I'd fallen in love with, the first person I had kissed, had opened myself up to, was one of _them_.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm working on the next chapter and hope to have at least two more chapters posted this weekend. Reviews would be super lovely!**

* * *

I lay in bed the next morning, willing myself to fall back asleep. I had the day off, and all I felt like doing was staying in bed with the door firmly shut. Mom had left around eight to take care of some things at the shop before she and Alyce opened.

I rolled onto my side and glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 9:27. I sighed, realizing sleep wasn't going to happen. My mind was too awake. Getting out of bed, I felt creaks and cracks through my body that made me feel as though I were eighty instead of sixteen.

The open curtains let in dim, wintry light. Though it was still technically autumn, the snow falling from the sky in delicate clumps proved otherwise. I opened my bedroom door and was almost immediately attacked by Trixie winding herself around my ankles, purring and mewing in a desperate plea for attention.

"You are the neediest cat!" I admonished her, leaning down to pick her up. She snuggled close to my chest and traced her cold, wet nose along my chin and jaw.

I carried her down the stairs and into the kitchen, my stomach giving notice that I was starving. I set Trixie down on the counter and started rooting through the fridge. Two minutes in the fridge, freezer, and pantry got me nowhere. We were out of virtually everything.

My stomach growled in complaint. I glanced over at an envelope on the counter Trixie was batting around and picked it up. It was opened already, and had a few twenties and a fifty inside and a Post-It on the front.

 _Can you get some groceries please?_

 _I know this is asking a lot from you, but_

 _I would appreciate it. Thank you for_

 _your sacrifice._

 _-Mom_

I scoffed at the amount of sarcasm a small pink sticky note could hold, and then took the money from the envelope and stuck the wad of bills into the pocket of my flannel shirt. My warm fuzzy boots were upstairs—as were my warm sweats, my comfy jacket, and my down coat. All I had down here were my combat boots and a black hoodie that provided virtually nothing in keeping me warm.

Giving a woeful glance up the stairs, I decided to go against what I knew I should have done and instead quickly laced the boots up over my thin leggings, and then slipped on the hoodie. A gust of wind smacked me in the face as soon as I opened the front door, and I groaned. I locked the door behind me and tucked my hair into the hood of the jacket before trudging out to my car, which upon arrival, felt colder inside than the snowy wind outside.

I jammed the keys into the ignition and flipped the heaters and my seat warmer on, bouncing slightly as I shivered to try to keep warm. Winter had come with a vengeance this year—the weather report on the radio claimed that the temperature was only supposed to get into the low thirties by the afternoon, and my car's temperature was only reading twenty-six.

As the heat started to kick in, I made my way carefully out of the slick driveway and hoped no one would be stupid enough to be out walking their dog or race up my street without a care to their own safety, let alone others'.

I arrived at the grocery store much later than I had anticipated. The main road had blocked from an earlier wreck, and that had backed up a lot of the residential streets. I hopped out of the car after finding the closing space I could and walked as quickly as I could into the store's brightly-lit warmth.

I strolled through the aisles carelessly, grabbing whatever I thought Mom or I would want—we weren't meal planners, so neither of us had ever really seen the point of a grocery list. Frantic women were scrounging for the last few boxes of Stovetop turkey stuffing while others massacred the shelves of instant potatoes and gravy.

Then I realized the chaos: we were less than two weeks from Thanksgiving.

The meat counter had long lines in from different directions, the men and women waiting impatiently to place their orders for turkey. A sign above the counter boasted Thanksgiving turkey pre-orders were ninety-seven cents per pound.

Mothers tried to keep their kids from running over to the bakery and grabbing containers of cookies. Some tried to talk their little darlings down from a tantrum; one mom flat out scooped up her screaming son and left the store with the cart still full in the aisle. Upon seeing this, a few women conspicuously started looking through it and picking out what they wanted.

Thanksgiving: the tradition that is meant to bring families together and reflect on what you're thankful for has turned into nothing more than rampant consumerism with housewives flocking to the stores like hungry vultures to keep up the façade of the American Dream.

Mom and I celebrated Thanksgiving to an extent. It has always been just the two of us, with none of her family (for obvious reasons) and none of Dad's family (for _extremely_ obvious reasons.)

Some years we had the Americanized dinner (turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy, green beans, pumpkin pie…) and some years we called it good with Chinese or pizza. But every year, unlike most American homes, we gave an offering to the Goddess and nature before we fed ourselves. We thanked the Goddess for blessing us, and gave our thanks for each other. After we ate, we would sit by the fire and watch Christmas movies—a weird tradition I loved the older I got.

We were so far from Christianity, yet there were certain things about Christmas Mom and I loved. We loved the cheesy family movies, the music, the tree, the presents on Christmas morning, and most of all, the ability to tie Yule into our décor without standing out. Red and green were the colors of both Yule and Christmas, and we usually spared no expense when it came to decorating the house.

Feeling an optimistic burst of holiday cheer, I got into the shorter of the lines to order a turkey.

* * *

Something was wrong, _off_ , as I arrived home.

I waited in my car in the driveway for a few moments, casting my senses out. I couldn't pick up on anything unusual, so I got out and went to the back to get the groceries out. I set a couple of bags on the ground so I could shut the back door, and then I set the alarm on my car, picked up all four bags, and made my way up to the porch.

"Hey, Fire Starter."

One of the bags slipped from my hands and landed with a thud on the third step. Quickly, I set all the bags down and turned to face him. "What're you doing here?" I demanded.

Hunter shrugged, his hands in his coat pockets. "Just wanted to come by and say hello to an old friend."

I snorted. "Your _friend_?" I countered. "If we're friends, then why did you ice me out?"

His eyes widened in what I assumed could only be confusion and said, "I didn't. I acknowledged you."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Hunter, why didn't you tell me?" I swallowed hard, feeling my throat close up and my eyes start to prickle with tears I didn't want him to see me release. "I _trusted_ you! I told you so many things about me, and you work for _them_?"

Hunter sighed and hung his head. "Cal told you about that?" he asked, glancing up to meet my eyes. I gave a stiff nod. "Well, I'm not the only one with secrets, _Miss_ _MacEwan_."

I froze, my mouth agape, as I stared at him in horror. "Wha—what are you talking about?" I whispered.

"Morgan, finding people is what I do." He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them for warmth. "And after a few pints, that brother of yours will say anything." He didn't make eye contact with me as he said this, as he brought up my brother's supposed betrayal. "He assumed I was after Ciaran, and I made the connection." Hunter took a few steps closer to me, and I grabbed the railing for support. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I licked my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. "Would you have used it against me?"

Hunter set his hand on the wooden railing and leaned against it. "I like to think that I wouldn't, but honestly, I don't know."

I nodded, and a tear slipped out. I sniffled and brushed it away with the back of my hand. "So why are you here?"

"I'm on assignment from the council to investigate Selene for her possible ties to dark magick and to Amyranth." His eyes flicked to mine. "How long have you been with Cal?"

"Couple weeks. And Selene isn't involved with Amyranth—I would know."

Hunter arched a perfect blonde eyebrow. "You of all people should know how charming and manipulative your father is," he started, and I shivered, feeling the chill of the morning air hit again. "Morgan, Selene is the same way. She's exactly the same as Ciaran, and she's raising Cal in Amyranth, too."

"I don't believe that." I retorted.

Feeling fed up, I picked up the bags and went to the door to unlock it. Unbelievably, Hunter took some of the bags from me and followed me inside to the kitchen. I didn't argue. I wasn't remotely thrilled with him for his involvement with the council, nor his accusations towards my boyfriend and his mother, but I was glad for the help.

Trixie jumped up onto the counter where Hunter had just set the bags and started sniffing at him. I watched her as she assessed him, and was shocked when she purred and butted her head against his welcoming palm. She was extremely judgmental and rarely accepted men—many of Mom's male coven mates had gone home with a bite or a bleeding scratch after trying to pet her. Even when Cal had been here, she was standoffish with him and stayed in another room.

"So why didn't you tell me you were a Seeker?"

"Would you have used it against me?" he asked coyly, rubbing Trixie behind her ears.

I shrugged. "Probably." I said simply, and he gave a small smile. "You guys don't really have the best reputation."

"Bad publicity," he said with a nod. "But we're working on it."

I went to work putting the groceries away, and Hunter helped without being asked to. I smiled in spite of myself but didn't say anything until all the paper bags were emptied and folded up in the recycling bin.

I grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and leaned against a counter opposite Hunter. "So when I met you, were you on assignment or on vacation?" I popped the top of the can and took a deliciously fizzy sip.

"Assignment." He said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with tap water. "I was investigating a witch believed to be performing rites with the blood of slaughtered sheep. I had to be inconspicuous."

I stared down at my boot-covered feet and took another sip of cold soda. "Is that why you were unable to meet me some days?"

"Yes."

"So was the witch guilty?"

"The council believed so, yes." He drank his water for a minute and set the glass in the sink. "I found enough evidence to bring him in."

"But was he guilty?" I pressed.

Hunter met my eyes. "The evidence implied so."

"And his punishment?"

He pushed himself away from the counter and shoved his hands into his coat pocket. "He had his powers stripped. He's in a facility in Scotland, and is likely to remain there for the rest of his life."

I nodded, not the least bit surprised. "So your plan with Selene is to pin her on suspicion and turn her in?"

Hunter's eyes narrowed and I could tell he was trying to remain calm. "I need to watch and bring her in for questioning if I find she is involved with anything the council might find suspicious."

"Then strip her of her powers so the council can save face and show that they are the supreme rulers of the Wiccan community."

"Good to see you, Morgan." Hunter's voice was bitter as he let himself out, and I didn't reply.

Trixie stared at me in accusation.


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter includes text from book three,** _ **Blood Witch**_ **, pages 44-49. Some are direct quotes, some are paraphrased—I did take out/add words and last names since I took them out of context from the original pages. I own nothing except the plot I've created.**

* * *

"I love your days off," Cal muttered, his voice raspy with quick panting breaths.

I laughed, tilting my head so his lips could get better access to my neck. "Me too," I breathed as his lips brushed the hollow of my throat.

We were in Cal's room, on his luxuriously comfortable and elegantly designed bed. When I had arrived, we had had about an hour before we needed to leave for the circle at Jenna's house. I had no idea how long we had now.

Cal's hands snaked up my sides, bringing the hem of my shirt up almost to my breasts. His lips left my neck and trailed down my collarbone, between my breasts, and down my stomach. My back arched involuntarily as his warm lips made contact with my skin. I fixed my eyes on the billowy white netting draped above his bed as he laid gently kisses on my stomach, feeling a sudden rush of self-consciousness.

Almost as if sensing it, Cal abandoned my lower body and placed his lips on mine. I opened my mouth to him, feeling my breathing spike. My fingers ran through his hair and gently tugged when Cal's tongue touched mine. His hands resumed their tracing of my body, but when I felt his fingertips come into contact with my birthmark, I pulled away from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, panting. His hand was still under my shirt, now covering and kneading my left breast.

"Shouldn't we be going soon?" I asked.

Cal flicked a glance to a small clock on his desk and groaned. "Wow, we really lost track of time." Cal took his hand off of my breast and helped me pull my shirt down, covering myself from his lingering eyes.

My face felt hot; my breath was slowly going back to normal. I observed Cal as he straightened himself up. Did he have any idea why I really pulled away? Did he know what my birthmark—a rose-colored, dagger-shaped raised mark on my left side—meant? He wasn't an idiot, I knew that much. Surely he had had an inkling to which clan I belonged to.

And this alone confirmed it.

"So we're going to be a few people short tonight—and every week, I suppose." Cal announced, tying his shoes.

I grabbed my boots and slid them on. "How come?"

"Bree, Raven, and Beth all quit. Apparently Bree and Raven have formed their own coven."

I stared at him, nonplussed. "How is that possible?"

Cal's golden eyes lit with fire for a brief moment, and I stopped tying my boot laces to look at him squarely. He sighed and said, "I don't know how, but they met Sky Eventide."

"They have _Sky_?"

Cal stood and waited for me to finish with my boots. "It seems that way."

"But why would she agree to run a coven of high school kids she doesn't know?"

He shrugged, just as perplexed as I was. "I have no idea. But I don't trust them—I don't trust Sky, and I especially don't trust the prick she's with."

My eyes narrowed slightly as I tried to understand his words. "Hunter." I said aloud, and it sent a dose of visible irritation through him. "Has he been around lately?"

Cal nodded. "All the time. Like he doesn't have anything better to do," Cal went over to his desk and pulled something out of the drawer. "This was stuck in the suspension of my car this morning when I picked you up from your house."

I couldn't tell what it was from this far back, but I didn't want to interrupt him to find out. "You think he's following you?"

"I _know_ he's following me." Cal hissed, then threw the stone-like object across the room. It hit the wall with a sickening crack. "He claims he's observing Mom, but I think he enjoys targeting me more."

I stared down at my knees, not saying anything. I couldn't accept Cal's version of events as the whole truth—not when I knew Hunter. Despite his being a Seeker, a part of me still held an implicit trust for him. So here I was, torn between my current boyfriend (who drove me crazy in the best way) and my first love (who drove me crazy in the most confusing way.)

Goddess, this sucked.

* * *

When we arrived at Jenna's house, we were only a few minutes late. Cal claimed it was car trouble, and I was taken aback by how easily he could lie. It had barely been a conscious effort on his part.

"Okay, everyone, step inside, and I'll close the circles," Cal instructed.

We did. I stood between Matt Adler and Sharon Goodfine, both of whom were nice enough and tame in their own natural abilities to help me rein myself in. I knew better than to stand next to Cal in a circle—that would be too much to handle. Sharon and Matt were safe.

"Tonight we're working on personal goals," Cal continued. He handed Ethan Sharp a small bowl of salt and told him to purify the circle. Next he asked Jenna to light the incense, symbolizing air, and Sharon to touch each of our foreheads with a drop of water from its matching bowl.

This circle felt special somehow, more important, more focused.

"During our breathing exercises," Cal said, "I want you each to concentrate on your own personal goals. Think about what you want out of Wicca and what you can offer to Wicca. Try to make it as simple and pure as possible. Stuff like 'I want a new car' isn't it."

We laughed.

"It's more like, I want to be more patient, or I want to be more honest, or I want to be braver. Think about what that means to you and how Wicca can help you achieve it. Any questions?"

I shook my head, though I had no idea what my personal goal could be. I was too cynical to be a truly kind person, too angry to have an inherent sense of calmness, too impatient to even fathom being patient (mostly with people—I was so attuned to whatever spell I was crafting that time slipped away from me), too lazy to be ambitious (I had always dreamed of being a healer…but that was a lot of work).

So what was my goal? Banish my bad qualities so I could evolve into the poster girl for Wicca?

Yeah, right.

"Everyone take hands, and let's begin our breathing exercises," said Cal.

I reached for my neighbors. Matt's hand was still cool from being outside. Sharon's bracelets jingled against my wrist. I began to breathe slowly and deeply, trying to let all the day's tensions drain from my body, trying to draw in all the positive energies I could. Within a few minutes I felt calm and focused, in a meditative state where I was only semi-aware of my surroundings.

"Now think about your goals,"

Shit.

Unbidden, we began to move in a circle, first slowly, then more quickly and smoothly. My eyes opened, and I saw Jenna's living room as a series of dark smudges, a wild blur as we spun around and around.

"I want to be more open," I heard Sharon murmur, as if on a breeze.

"I want to be happy," said Ethan.

"I want to be more loveable." Said Jenna.

I felt Matt's hand clench mine for an instant, and then he said, "I want to be more honest." The words sounded reluctant and pained.

 _What was going on there?_ My mind started to wander into the realm of angsty teen drama, but Cal's voice brought me back to the present.

"I want to be strong," he whispered.

"I want to be a good person," said Robbie. That confused me; even from brief encounters, I had felt that he already _was_ a good person.

I was last. I could feel the seconds ticking by. I still didn't know what I needed to work on the most. Yet words slipped out anyway without a thought.

"I want to realize my power."

As I said it, I hoped it would be enough. Though I was powerful, strong, and initiated, with over a thousand years of Riordan and MacEwan magick in my veins, living up to that full potential was a jarring concept.

If I accepted it, would I be more likely to embrace the darkness?

The pull of the circle's energy was too tempting to resist, and I let myself go again within this group of people. Words I had heard my mother say all my life sprang to my lips, and I chanted them by myself, hearing my voice weaving a beautiful pattern in the air. This was wholly good magick, and as I lost myself, I didn't feel frightened. I continued the power chant as we spun, not wanting to stop and give this up again. Being with Cal made me want to keep my power bottled up for when I needed it; he made me want to be a Goddess.

And that was the crux of my inner turmoil: someday, I would have to make the choice that defined my path forever, and Cal's influence over me could lead me in the wrong direction.

"Let's take it down." Cal said.

I slowed my whirling and let myself come to a stop, feeling nauseous and overstimulated. I immediately lay face down on Jenna's wooden floor and grounded myself. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal, and I lay on my side now. I noticed everyone was staring at me and felt a rush of shyness hit me just as quickly as my beautiful power faded.

Cal crouched by my side, his hand on my hip. "Everything all right?" he asked. He sounded excited, breathless.

"Yeah," I murmured.

"Where did the chant come from?" he asked, gently brushing my hair off my shoulder. "What did it do?"

"It was a power chant—I've heard it all my life, and it just kind of popped into my head." I explained, feeling an ache in my hip from where it rested on the hard floor.

"It was so beautiful," said Jenna.

"Pretty witchy," said Sharon.

"It was really cool," said Ethan.

I couldn't help but smile at the compliments. Being praised for my power by regular people was still such a foreign thing to me that all the feelings I had were genuine—I didn't shrug them off like I did with my mom's coven mates. I respected and appreciated their effort, and was grateful for their acceptance of me. Cal smiled down at me, and I smiled back, not caring for the moment that he could be the very thing to destroy me. At this moment in time, I was perfectly content.

"Ow!" I muttered when I nails on the back of my legs. Half sitting up, I looked over to see the fuzzy, triangular head of a tiny gray kitten.

It mewed in greeting, and I laughed.

Jenna grinned. "Oh, sorry. One of our cats had kittens two months ago. We're trying to get rid of them. Anyone want a cat?" she joked.

I scooped the tiny thing up and held him at eye-level to me. He looked back at me intently, a world of feline wisdom in his baby blue eyes. He was solid gray and shorthaired. He mewed in my face again and reached out a paw to pat my cheek.

"Hello," I said. I had never had my own pet before—Mom never believed I was mature enough to handle taking care of myself let alone another living creature. But this kitten felt like he belonged to me, like he had been waiting for me all along. I remembered reading about a kitten in my mom's Book of Shadows, how she had named him after the Dagda, the god, and how much he would have to live up to with that kind of a name. I'm sure she felt the same way about her Dagda as I felt about mine.

"Hi," I said softly. "Your name is Dagda, and you're going to come home and live with me. All right?"

* * *

"Mom?" I called as I got in later that night.

"Kitchen," she called back, and I kicked off my boots, being careful not to jostle little Dagda too much inside my coat. I received a tiny mew of complaint.

She looked up as I walked into the kitchen and smiled. "How was it?"

"Good," I said with a grin. I opened the fridge and got out the orange juice. I unscrewed the lid with one hand and took a sip from the bottle. I used my sleeve to wipe my mouth and screwed the lid back onto the bottle, and then stuck it back in the fridge door. "I have some news,"

Her eyes assessed me briefly. She set a bookmark in the page she was on and set the book to the side. I sat down at the table across from her and reached inside my coat pocket for the kitten.

She gave an exaggerated groan and rubbed her eyes. "Thank the Goddess," she muttered. "You had me worried you were pregnant."

I laughed and set Dagda on the table top, rubbing behind his ears. "This is Dagda." I announced, and she snorted and shook her head.

"Hello, Dagda," Mom greeted him with amusement as he cautiously crept towards her. "You picked a scary one for your mother." She warned, scratching him under his chin.

"Hey," I objected. "I take care of Trixie when you're away."

"I write her food schedule down for you," she countered. "Morgan, I know you want to keep him, but I don't know if you're responsible enough yet."

I reached out and picked up Dagda to cradle him against my chest. "Give me a month to prove it to you, and if I slack off, we can find a new home. Okay?"

Mom thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I got up from my seat and leaned across the table to kiss her cheek. "I love you,"

"Love you, too," she replied. "Get some sleep, love. You work tomorrow."

I nodded. "I will. Night."

With Dagda in hand, I skipped up the stairs to get ready for bed.


	12. Chapter 12

I awoke to brittle sunlight streaming through my open curtains. I smiled at it, grateful for the birthday gift of a day without snow. Getting out of bed, I pushed my feet into my slippers and went to the window. Icicles were dripping down from the roof and snow on the ground was melting. We might actually get over forty degrees today. Dagda was nowhere to be seen, and that worried me. He usually slept with me in my bed or shared a cushion with Trixie.

Trixie had surprised me. She had taken an instant liking to the kitten and had been motherly towards him; pinning him down with a fat paw for grooming, purring alongside him as they snuggled. It was bizarre, but I hoped that the approval of my mother's cat would help cement Dagda's place in this house.

I went downstairs in my pajamas—which consisted of a holey, green tie-dyed T-shirt and black and white daisy-print cotton shorts—and met my mom in the kitchen.

"Mor-ning," I said in sing-song, stifling a yawn. She smiled in reply and flipped pancakes onto a plate. She handed the top plate to me. "Thanks,"

I set the plate on the kitchen island and went to the pantry to grab syrup.

"How does it feel being seventeen?"

"Um…" I murmured, swirling a ribbon of syrup over the fluffy chocolate chip pancakes. "I don't really feel all that different." I closed the cap and sat down on a bar stool.

Mom flipped the rest of the pancakes onto her plate and set it down across from me. "That's normal," she said, going to the fridge. "Orange juice or cider?"

"Cider, please," I went to work cutting the pancakes into tiny pieces with the side of my fork. She poured us each a glass of cloudy apple cider.

Before sitting down, she went and retrieved something from her workroom. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously as she returned with her left hand behind her back.

"What is that?"

Wordlessly, she brought her hand forward, and presented me with Dagda. "I was quick to assume you wouldn't be responsible, and I apologize for that."

I took him from her and kissed the top of his head. "I understand, though," I said, setting him down on the island. "So did you take him this morning?"

"I did." She replied, sitting down. "I got him a collar, and it's just a bit too big, so we can either exchange it or wait till he grows into it."

I stared at her. "I can keep him?" my voice was more skeptical than hopeful. She nodded, taking a bite of her food. "But it's only been a week."

Mom waved her fork dismissively. "He's yours—you just need to take care of him."

"I will," I swore, smiling down at the kitten washing his paw. "Thanks, Mom."

* * *

It had been a slow day at work, and by three o'clock, I was ready to call it a day. But, as the store hours sign out front said, we closed at five on Sundays. I stretched, yawning. I wanted to grab a book, crawl into bed, and curl up with Dagda for the rest of the night.

My senses prickled seconds before the store phone rang. I grabbed the one by the register so Mom wouldn't have to hunt down the other one in the currently-chaotic supply room.

"Practical Magick," I greeted.

"Hey,"

"Hi," I answered. "You know I have a cell phone, right?"

Cal laughed. "I know you rarely use your cell. Figured this would be the easiest way to call you."

"Ah," I murmured. "So…?"

"I was wondering if you would like to come over tonight—I may have a little birthday present for you."

I grinned leaning against the counter. "You do?" I asked coyly. "And what might that be."

"Come over and find out."

"I'm off at five—five-thirty on the off chance someone comes in right as I'm locking up and decides to browse for twenty minutes, then reconsider their choices for five, and then leave me to recount the cash drawer and the credit card purchases for the day."

Cal chuckled. "So we'll shoot for six."

"Works for me. Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and starting sorting through the items left up front by customers who had changed their minds. A scarf, some jewelry, a box of pink candles, and three books. I went to return them to their homes, fixing the displays as I went. I finished with the books, placing them in alphabetical order by title first, then author. The last book stopped me in my tracks. Fire scrying.

It wasn't the same book I had bought at Summer Sun—that would be impossible—but it similar in its content. My mind started racing with thoughts about Hunter; was he even still here? Probably not with how the council operated. He probably found nothing on Selene Belltower and had to make a report to the council, and then went off on his next hunt.

The book fit easily into place on the shelf.

The brass bells over the door jingled, and I made my way out of the rows of books to go back to the register, already rehearsing in my head the spiel about helping them find anything and to let me know if they have any questions. But when I recognized two of the three girls that had just come in, I braced myself.

"You still work here?" Raven Meltzer asked snidely. Her black hair was in two tight buns on top of her head; her outfit consisted of a tattered, dark gray sweater, shorts with fishnet tights, and faded leather combat boots that weren't laced properly. Her nose stud was so pushed up from her skin that it looked like it was ready to fall out.

I nodded, going past them to the register. Raven and the girl I didn't recognize wandered around, and Bree came up to me.

"Hi," I said cautiously.

Bree stared at me, her eyes hard, almost as if made of stone. "That was a bitch move," she spat. "I try to be your friend, and you sweep in and take the guy I'm in love with."

I hung my head, nodding. "I didn't plan it." I looked up at her. "I know it won't mean anything to you, but I really am sorry for how it happened."

Bree nodded, running her fingers through the ends of her dark hair. "Well, now I know better than to trust witches so easily."

"You can trust witches," I countered. "Just not me, I guess."

"Right." She agreed.

I cleared my throat. "I really want to apologize for Cirrus, too," I said quickly. "I never meant to make you leave your own coven."

"You didn't," she replied dismissively. "It was Cal. Like after Samhain especially, he became this self-important narcissist with a god complex, and I didn't want to deal with that on top of seeing you two together." Bree shrugged. "So Raven and I formed our own coven—some Cirrus members are even trying to switch over."

"Well, I'm glad you're still trying to be a part of Wicca." I said sincerely. "I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, and I know that. I just felt like you had a real connection to it, and I'm glad you've found a way to keep going."

Bree nodded, then groaned softly. "I really want to hate you, but you're actually a cool person. Why can't you just be a bitch?"

I grinned. "I can be, but I try to be peaceful and diplomatic when it comes to Wicca."

She snorted a laugh, and I tensed up when the other two girls came up to the register. Raven nudged Bree to the side. "I wonder if the shop's owner cares that she employs a sneaky, backstabbing high-school dropout."

"Not when it's my daughter," Mom said. She was standing in front of the curtain that separated the shop from the back room. Her hands clutched her wallet and keys. She came over to us and stood next to me to face them. "Do you girls need help finding anything?"

Raven and the girl shook their heads, the girl blushing a little with embarrassment.

Mom said to me, "I'm getting a coffee. Do you want anything?"

"Cinnamon tea, if they have any."

She rubbed my back reassuringly before she left.

"Your mommy owns the place?" Raven asked, cocking an eyebrow.

I nodded. "Yes."

Raven looked at the girl conspiratorially. "Good. You won't have a hard time explaining this then," she grabbed a box of black tapered candles and elbowed the girl. "Thalia," she said to the girl, and then handed her a second box of candles. Raven waved them at me tauntingly and made her way out of the shop, Thalia following behind.

Bree's eyes widened in alarm, watching disbelievingly as the door closed behind them. "I am so sorry," she said, horrified. "How much were they?"

"$11.50 each," I said as she started to take out her wallet. "Don't worry about it—my mom will understand."

"What will happen?" she asked, her wallet open in her hands.

I shrugged. "Probably come out of my pay, which would make the last few hours pointless, but it's okay." I promised. "I kind of deserve it."

"The threefold law?" she raised an eyebrow, putting her wallet away.

"Oh, no, I'm expecting that to hit way worse. This was just a preview."

Bree smiled and sighed. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "I'm sure. I'm feeling generous today."

Raven laid on the horn, making us both jump. "I should probably go," said Bree. "I'll see you around?"

"Yep."

She smiled again and left the shop, and I felt just a little bit better.

* * *

"I love you, Morgan," Cal's voice whispered in my ear.

I pulled away from him and sat up. "Why would you say that?" I hissed, straightening my clothes. "I was having a perfectly good time just making out, and you have to throw _that_ out there?"

Cal stared at me angrily. "Are you being serious right now?" he demanded. "I just told you that I _love_ you, I planned this whole night to be about the two of us, and you're _rejecting_ me?"

"What exactly did you plan?"

"I thought that we were going to make love," Cal said, calming down ever so slightly. "I thought that I could make you feel comfortable and secure and that if you knew how I felt about you, you would want to do it."

I shook my head, my anger dissipating. "I'm not ready, Cal." I leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "I really like you, I'm really attracted to you, but I'm not ready to give myself to you."

Cal nodded after a moment. "So you don't love me." He stated.

"I don't know what I feel, Cal. Love is kind of a foreign concept to me," Not technically true, but I wasn't about to tell Cal that. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," he said easily. "I can wait until you feel ready." He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.

"What time is it?" I asked, grabbing Cal's wrist to look at his watch. It was only about nine-thirty. Mom was still out for the night—an emergency coven meeting—and probably wouldn't be home until close to dawn.

Cal's mood shifted, and he took his arm back. "Mom's home anyway, so we should probably call it a night."

I kissed him softly on the lips. "Thank you for tonight," I said, and he smiled.

"You're welcome." He kissed me back. "Let me walk you out."

We got out of his bed and I got my things together, and then followed him down the stairs. Selene had just come in, looking chilled through but still maintained her elegant composure.

"Morgan," she greeted me in surprise. "Lovely to see you."

"You too," I replied with a smile.

"I'm going to walk her out to her car," Cal explained to his mother.

Selene nodded, taking off her coat. "Okay. There are a few things I need to discuss with you, so please don't take too long." She said, trying to remain pleasant. She looked tense, angry, so I waved at her and exited before Cal, glad that I had decided against making love with him.

"Is she okay?" I asked, Cal trailing behind me by a few steps.

When we got to my car, Cal pulled me to him, trapping me between his warm body and my cold door. "Niall is at it again." He said disdainfully. "Relentless asshole. It's all personal, too. I don't know why the council thought it best to send him."

I bit my lip, debating whether or not to ask the question that had been burning in my mind since Hunter had arrived. "What _is_ his connection to you?"

Cal paused, and then sighed, his breath coming out in a puff. "I'd rather not say. But I have reasons to hate him, Morgan. I have reasons not to trust him."

I nodded, though I was irritated. If he wanted to earn my trust to get me in bed, he wasn't going about it the right way. "Okay." I said, and then unlocked my car. "Goodnight."

Cal kissed me as I got in, standing in the open door. I started my car up to get the heater working. Cal smiled then, and it was like a smack to the face. Instantly I recognized him, recognized who he was.

I _knew_ Cal, and not from us meeting at Practical Magick. I'd met him in the summer in San Francisco on a trip with my father and siblings when I was ten and he had just turned thirteen. _Thirteen_ , my mind repeated. He was two and a half years _older_ than me.

"I should get going." I told him, hearing a waver in my voice.

"Get home safely."

I nodded and shut my door, and then got the hell out of there.

* * *

When I arrived home, Mom's car was gone as I had predicted. I pulled into the driveway and got out, being careful with the new layer of ice that had formed with nightfall.

My senses went on alert, and I quickly scanned the yard until my eyes fell on a tall figure standing amongst the trees that lined the house.

"God, you're like a phantom," I called out to him. "Lying in wait till you can get me alone."

Hunter laughed and came over to meet me on the porch. "Thought I'd drop in and say happy birthday."

"You remember?" I asked, looking up at him. The green of his eyes were dulled in the dim porch light. Hunter nodded. "Do you need to head off anytime soon?"

"No,"

"Good," I said, my voice hard. "Because I have some questions."


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey all! This chapter took me longer than usual to write because I needed inspiration to strike. I have the premise of each chapter typed out in an outline, and due to the last part of this chapter, I wanted it to be perfect. Thank you for the reviews! Please let me know what you all thought of this chapter, and I'll be sure to have the next one out much sooner.**

* * *

I sat down on the coffee table in front of Hunter; a lame attempt at interrogation. Hunter relaxed in the chair, his arms folded, waiting for me to start my questioning. His expression—with one eyebrow cocked and an amused smirk on his lips—seemed to mock me.

I sat up straight, placing my hands on either side of me on the edge of the table. "What's your connection to Cal and Selene?"

"No connection to Selene," he said evenly. "But Cal is, technically, my half-brother."

"Technically?" I asked, fidgeting slightly as the hard wood of the table started to make my butt feel numb. I probably should've gone with a chair.

Hunter straightened, his smirk fading into a hard line. "I didn't know about him until recently—we have the same father."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. They looked nothing alike, not at all, and I knew that Hunter would be nineteen in a couple of weeks. Cal had turned nineteen in June. So that would mean Hunter's father had gotten his mother pregnant with him while Selene was still pregnant with Cal.

"Your father never told you about him?" I asked, crossing my right leg over my left.

Hunter shook his head. "He and Mum left when I was eight, and Cal had never been mentioned in our house. If not for the council, I doubt I would even know about him now."

"So you met him through the council?"

"At a convention."

I snorted a laugh. "You actually go to those?"

Hunter rolled his eyes. "I was trying to get in as a Seeker—it was recommended I participate. Have you ever been?"

I nodded. "Last one was when I was ten, in San Francisco." I said, and felt my chest tighten as I remembered yet again that that was when I met Cal for the first time. "Though that was mostly a front so Ciaran could show me off." I smiled sadly. "He has never made it a secret that I was his favorite child," I murmured, looking down at the scratched-up wood floor. "And that's probably why my sister hates me so much. I guess I don't blame her."

Hunter leaned forward and rested a hand of my knee comfortingly. "You said San Francisco?" his voice was cautious, as if being very careful with his choice of words, and I knew why.

"Yeah." I muttered. "And just so you're aware, I remembered that I had met Cal back then." My eyes met his. "Selene works with Ciaran, like you said. I don't know what their plan is, but I feel like it involves Ciaran. I don't feel like I can trust Cal anymore if he remembers who I am."

"So you haven't told him about Ciaran?"

"Are you crazy?" I laughed. "I don't tell anyone—the only reason _you_ know is because you got to my brother in an inebriated state." I shook my head. "God, if I hadn't been showing signs of my power as a toddler, I doubt my mom would've even taught me the craft."

Hunter looked surprised. "Really?"

I licked my lips and relaxed my shoulders, resting my elbows on my thighs. "I didn't tell you certain things because I didn't want you to know who I was, Hunter." I took a deep breath and went on. "You've heard of Belwicket? The Irish coven?"

"Wiped out by a dark wave twenty years ago," he said, nodding.

"That was my mom's coven." I confided. "My grandmother, Mackenna, was the high priestess, and my mom was supposed to inherit from her. Then Ciaran came along." I looked down again, biting the inside of my cheek. "She fled to New York, and a few years later, Ciaran tracked her down. That's how I'm here."

"Why weren't you raised by Ciaran then?"

I shrugged. "Because he already had a family, because my mom didn't want me to be around him, because she hated him as much as she loved him—I honestly don't know all the details. She's really sensitive about it, and I try not to pry."

Hunter looked utterly perplexed. "Why would she be with someone who did that? It makes no sense." He scoffed. "Were you kept away for your safety, or hers?"

"Mine." I told him doubtlessly. "She made an arrangement with him from the second he knew about me—I was hers, and he would stay away so long as I visited a couple of times a year, and she acts like his girlfriend when he needs her to." I felt tears prickle in my eyes and blinked.

"Bastard."

I coughed out a startled laugh. "You have no idea," I wiped my eyes. "Shit, can you imagine having someone observe you your whole life to gauge your potential? I think that's why I slack off so much—I don't want to be anything like him."

"But you are like him," Hunter countered. "Powerful, ruthless…if you lived up to your full potential, witches around the world would either fear you or envy you."

I flicked my eyes to his. "Would you fear me?" I asked, scooting closer to him. The air had shifted between us; I felt the draw to him as I'd felt over the summer. " _Do_ you fear me?"

Hunter leaned closer, too, and my breath caught in my throat. Goddess, he was so attractive to me. My mind went back to the summer of us swimming in the stream, naked, our bodies illuminated by moonlight and magesight. I wanted to forever live in that moment, just the two of us, feeling safe and warm and lost in a lusty haze.

"I'd be a fool not to fear you, Morgan," he murmured, his lips just inches from mine. "But I don't."

"No?" I whispered coyly. "I don't scare you?" I placed my hands on his shoulders, pulling myself closer to him. Hunter shook his head confidently, a smirk playing on his lips.

 _Just kiss me_ , I willed him silently. _Kiss me_. And when he did, I felt all the tension, all the sadness of leaving him, all the conflicting feelings I had for Cal disappear because I was back in Hunter's arms. He pulled me against him in the chair, my legs straddling his as I pressed every inch of my body I could into his warmth.

An irritated screech startled me, and I pulled back quickly, not knowing what was happening. In a flash, Trixie chased poor little Dagda down the hall, backing him into a corner and hissing.

I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my fast heartbeat. Hunter's eyes were fixed on me with amusement as I got off of his lap and went over to the cats. I scooped up a shaking Dagda and cradled him against my chest, trying to soothe him.

"It's okay, little guy," I murmured, stroking his ears. "She's a mean old thing." I shook Trixie off as she started to rub against my ankles. "I'm not happy with you!" I chided her, and she meowed at me.

When I looked up at Hunter, he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" I demanded, setting Dagda down on the arm of the couch. I crossed my arms as I faced him, waiting.

"You went from this sexy, powerful vixen to cat lady in seconds," he laughed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He scratched his exquisitely chiseled jaw and smirked at me.

I grinned. "I suffer from multiple personality disorder."

"Yes, that explains it."

I bit my lip, an idea occurring to me. "Can I show you something?" I asked, my voice soft as if bracing for rejection. Hunter looked intrigued, and then sat up straight again. "It's outside—worth it, I promise," I added as his enthusiasm faltered. In here it was pleasantly toasty. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to trudge out into the snow and ice.

Hunter stood, and I grabbed his hand and led him through the backdoor. "Fantastic decision not to bring coats. Freezing to death _is_ everyone's idea of a good time." he commented, his tone mordacious, and I laughed as I continued to lead us to my workroom.

I let go of his hand as we arrived at the small, shed-like building and dismantled the spell on the door. I gestured for him to go in first—which he seemed skeptical of doing—and closed the door behind us. Once inside, I went to work lighting candles and kindling for the wood fireplace. It took only a minute or so for the chill to fade away, and then it was comfortable.

"This is my workroom, I guess," I explained lamely. "Where I do all my spells and study."

"You can't work in the house?" he asked, his eyes tracing over the runes I had drawn onto the wood walls. They were all for peace, for happiness and strength. This place was my haven.

"No, I can." I said, sitting on a floor pillow near the fireplace. The flames from the kindling were just now starting to lick the wood. I focused on the flame, willing it to catch on to the splinters, and it did, releasing a hellish glow up the sides of the logs. Hunter's eyes were watching me as I worked my simple magick. I noticed he had taken another pillow and sat across from me. "My mom works all over the house, so she thought I would like having my own space that she hasn't touched." I explained, feeling the warmth. I extended my hand out and let the flames dance higher, catching on to more of the wood until it was engulfed in glorious orange.

Hunter continued his transfixed gaze on my hand, unaware of my own gaze on him. When I took my hand away from the fire, he followed it back to my body hypnotically. I hadn't spelled him, but he was acting as though I had. I held my hand out to him, and he took it. His hand was like ice compared to mine, and I curled my fingers around his, trying to warm them.

"My room is really the only place she doesn't perform spells." I went on, and after a moment he met my eyes. "Actually, that's not true. Every spring she purifies all the corners and windows and baseboards in the house. Place reeks of burnt sage and lavender for days." I laughed, and he cracked a smile.

"How long did it take for you to conjure fire so easily?" he asked, absently tracing the lines of my hand with his fingertip.

I shook my head. "It didn't—it's always just kind of…been there." I exhaled slowly, mesmerized by the effect the fire's glow had on Hunter's inhumanly beautiful face.

"Is that part of the reason you didn't grow up with Ciaran?"

"Part of it," I nodded. "I guess I'd like him to believe I wasn't special. It's so easy for him to ignore his other kids—why can't he extend the same courtesy to me?"

Hunter released my hand and looked at the fire again. "Because a power like yours is not to be ignored, Morgan." He stated baldly. "Sooner or later it's going to be you versus him, and he'll win."

I leaned back from him, startled by his words. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true." His expression was hard, unwavering, and I began to regret letting him into my place of comfort. "I'm not trying to be harsh—it's just the truth. The only reason he hasn't drained your power yet is because you're young still. He has time to manipulate you into joining him—as godly as Ciaran thinks he is, he knows he's not immortal. He'll need an heir."

I felt the tears well up as I realized how honest his words were. All of my fears were so obvious to him, and I felt exposed, ashamed. "Do I just have all of this written on my forehead or something?"

"No," he promised, sounding almost sad. "But even the strongest barriers have flaws. Your flaw is that despite being an exceedingly powerful witch, you're still human."

I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "They teach you how to invade people's minds in Seeker training, Niall?" I asked bitterly, and he chuckled. "So if you know my fears, and my flaws, why not tell me yours? What's your flaw?"

His green eyes assessed me firmly, as if debating with himself if he should reveal such information.

"Hunter?" I prodded. "Come on, after everything I've told you about me—and every piece of information you _dug up_ about me—I deserve _something_."

Hunter licked his lips. "I'm… vengeful."

"Vengeful?" I repeated, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"I know Selene was responsible for the dark wave that had been sent after my parents' coven—she's the reason they went into hiding. She's the reason I turned to dark magick for answers…" he held his breath for a brief moment and then let it out in a deliberate, focused way, almost as if calming himself. "She is the reason my brother got himself killed. He wouldn't stop even after I had—one night I found Linden calling a taibhs, and… I was too late."

I let out a sharp breath, imagining him going through that, seeing his brother be killed right in front of him and not being able to stop it. I could imagine Hunter wanting to go out the same way, at the same time, because living with that memory was almost a death sentence in itself—and one you could not escape from. A tear slipped out, and I felt weak and childish. Hunter didn't seem to notice, and went on as if he'd rehearsed these lines a thousand times.

"Because of that, because of his death and Amyranth's involvement in my parents' disappearance, I joined the council." He paused again, looking at the fire for answers. "I've never been a fan of Seekers, and I know witches reactions to us, but I had to do something. If I could stop witches from enacting rites against others and dark waves and stop them from calling them into existence, then I'll have done my job, and I can die with a clear conscience."

I swallowed, my throat feeling dry and raw. "Is it coincidence you landed here, or did you request it?"

Hunter looked back at me, and I saw his pupils dilate as his eyes readjusted to the dim light where I was sitting. "I didn't request it," he said. "But it's no coincidence that I'm here to investigate Selene. Bringing her in, stripping her of her powers—that may be the only way I can get the revenge I'm after." He laughed without humor then, letting his hands relax in his lap. "Of course, if the council knew, I could very easily be subjected to another trial, and I can't imagine they would go lightly on me a second time."

"A second time?" I asked, feeling lost with all of this information.

"I was tried and found not guilty for Linden's death," he explained. "But if the council suspected I was anything but professional in my dealings with Selene, they would strip me in a heartbeat, maybe even sentence me to death."

I moved closer to him and placed my hand on his knee. "Are you being unprofessional?"

Hunter shook his head. "No. As much as I want to put the braigh around her neck and drag her to the council by her hair," he let out another controlled breath. "I value protocol more. I value my own morals more—I would be no better than any errant woodbane roaming about to cause trouble and destruction."

I scratched my forehead, at a loss for what to say. If he was right about Selene, if she was a part of Amyranth, then she already knew exactly who I was. She knew I was Ciaran's daughter, and she would use that to her advantage. If she was part of Amyranth, there was no doubt in my mind that she could have caused the dark wave that tore apart Hunter's family. And for what?

"Why do you think she caused it?" I asked gently, resting my other hand on his forearm.

"Because my father left her for my mum. He chose us over her and Cal." He said simply. "How would you feel if the father of your child left you to have another family?"

I bit my lip, nodding as I thought about what could lead Selene to do it. "I would be furious, I think. But I wouldn't want him dead." I said. "I would let him go."

"You wouldn't fight against it?"

I shrugged. "Probably not. If he doesn't want me, why should I bother? I'm more than a second choice, and I won't waste feelings on it."

Hunter looked at me curiously, almost fascinated by my answer. "Why did you leave without saying goodbye?"

His question took me by surprise. "Ciaran wouldn't let me leave the house until it was time to go to the airport. It's not that I didn't want to—I couldn't. I was sick about for months."

"It's a good thing you had curfew our last night then," he murmured.

I uncrossed my legs, feeling the tingling as they went to sleep, stretching my feet towards the fire. "Why is that?" I asked, taking off my boots and socks to wiggle my toes in front of the wonderful warmth. "How far do you think we would've gone?" I challenged him, leaning back on my hands behind me. I turned my head to look at him, resting my chin on my shoulder.

His eyes seemed to accept my challenge, and they swept over me, focusing on certain parts as if to remind himself what they looked like unclothed. I tried not to do the same to him, feeling blush creep into my face.

"For the record," I said, hearing my voice waver as I replaced confidence with insecurity. "I wish we would have." I bit my lip, bracing myself for his reaction.

Without prompting, Hunter leaned down to kiss me softly. I lowered my arms, sinking us down to the floor so I could wrap my arms around him. As we kissed, I trailed fingertips down the curve of his jaw, down his neck, across his collarbone. My hands undid the buttons of his shirt and felt the hard warmth of his chest, the smooth muscle there, the dark blonde chest hair that seemed to suit him well. Hunter was supporting his weight above me, and I was making it difficult by clinging to him restlessly, wanting to meld with him completely.

I broke away from the kiss, panting, and reached down to grab the hem of my shirt. Hunter helped me slide it off along with my camisole, his hands guiding my long hair out of the fabric. He held my cheek softly and kissed me once on the lips and then fixed his gaze on my face, my dark hair fanned out around me, my eyes that stared back up at him. Despite the fire and the candles in the room, and the heat between us, I felt cold. I tugged on his now fully unbuttoned shirt, and he took it off completely, setting it to the side with mine.

Hunter's lips met mine again, and I felt more of his weight settle on top of me comfortably. I pushed my breasts against his warmth as much as I could, arching my back. His arm supported me, and I felt a pleasant tingle go down my spine as he stroked the skin of my back. My hand went down to his belt, and I started to undo it, feeling his hardness, his readiness as I traced his jeans. His lips let out a soft groan against mine as he let me continue. I felt his fingers unbutton and unzip my own jeans, and we paused so we could shed ourselves of the rest of our clothing, and his shoes and socks.

It was very different, seeing him naked in this light compared to the clear, moonlit water. Fire and water, two polar opposites. In the water, it was innocent, flirtatious, and I was just beginning to welcome the idea of love. In the fire's light, we were anything but innocent. We were made of heat, fueled by desire, and both sought nothing more than the thrilling exhilaration of joining our bodies.

I lay back down, offering myself wholly to him, and he accepted. Once settled above me, our pants in sync, our stomachs touching every other beat with the effort to breathe deeply, he kissed me deeply, holding my face in his hands. I breathed through my nose as our lips connected and parted, again and again, our pulses rising with our actions.

As he entered me, I let out a soft, strangled cry. The feeling was entirely foreign to me, and I tried to relax into him. Hunter's lips left mine and went to my neck, laying tantalizingly hot kisses on the skin there. There was a slight pain, but I pushed it back, not wanting to panic. Everything else was… indescribable.

My breath hitched as my hips met his, and I repeated the action, again and again. I rested my head on the floor and stared up through my skylight. The wind had blown most of the snow off, and I could see the moon full and clear above us, as if smiling down upon us like it had months ago. This was right, this was _perfect_ , and I wanted to cry from the beauty of it all.

I lifted Hunter's head to mine and kissed him feverishly, both of our mouths breaking often to catch a breath and let out a soft, faint moan or grunt. His lips felt swollen against mine, and I was sure mine were the same way. In our kissing, Hunter's hand slid down to my breast, eliciting a surprised cry from me. As he held me to him, I let myself be lost in the sensation, not wanting to think anymore—just _feel_.

 _Sex_ , was my last thought. _The ultimate magick_.


	14. Chapter 14

The night's chill returned in full force as I extinguished the fire. Without speaking, Hunter and I joined hands as we left my workroom, stopping briefly so I could spell the door. The moon was partially hidden behind menacingly dark clouds, and I frowned, missing the feeling of safety I had when it was fully visible.

As we walked around the house to the end of the driveway where his car was parked, I tried to hold onto all the feelings of rightness and contentment I had when we were making love. Even after we finished, we had lain together for what felt like hours; kissing, talking, holding each other while we went in and out of sleep. It had been truly magickal, and I thanked the Goddess for guiding us back to each other.

Love was still an unfamiliar territory to me. What I felt for Hunter was the closest I could imagine, but I would never ruin what we had by saying so. Once you say you love someone, everything turns to shit. I could bottle it up, know what I feel on the inside and express it to him physically, but I never had to say it. That stupid word caused more destruction than happiness.

"What're you thinking about?" I asked, noticing how distracted he looked as we arrived at his car.

Hunter leaned against the passenger door and pulled me to him, ducking his head to kiss me tenderly. I smiled against his lips, snuggling against him. His arms stayed around me as he replied, "I have to figure out a way to find evidence against Selene and Cal."

"How can I help?" I asked, kissing his collarbone.

He took my face in his hands and peered down at me, almost in adoration, and I felt suddenly shy. "Normally I would suggest you stay out of this, but I actually think I could use your help—provided you don't mind being a council lackey for a day or two?"

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "What do you need me to do?"

"Do you think you'd be able to keep up your relationship with Cal?"

I pulled back in horror. "Are you serious?" I hissed. "No! Hunter, I—I know," I huffed. "If Cal is in any way involved with my father, I want nothing to do with him. I can't risk it."

"Morgan, you'll be protected. I promise." He swore, seeming unflinchingly sincere. "It's not like I'm telling you to sleep with him—I'm asking you to stay involved just a little bit longer."

"And what? Try to get intel on him and Selene?"

"That's exactly it."

I swallowed, staring up at his face. "And if I fail? If they catch on to me, or they realize I remember who Cal is?"

"Call me." He said simply.

I nodded distractedly, my mind spinning with panicked thoughts and conflicting irritation—I knew my power was greater than Cal's. I could crush him with the power in my little toe. But my father's power was not something to take lightly, and if Selene was anything like him, I would never stand a chance.

Hunter kissed me again, and it was gentle yet so exhilarating. He pulled back, his lips full and slightly shiny. I touched my lip, feeling how tender and swollen it was.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, looking up at the sky. "Or later today, I suppose."

"Okay."

He kissed me again, quickly, and then got in his car and took off. I waited until I could no longer see the outline of his car before I went inside.

* * *

"Did you have a good rest of your birthday?" Alyce asked brightly, shuffling around new and raked-through items on a display for Yule.

"I did," I replied, and then resumed biting my nail that I had stupidly broken on a can of soda this morning. Once it was filed down to something that wouldn't get caught on loose sweater threads, I pulled out a book on herb healing and picked up where I'd left off.

Mondays were the slowest days, and I often wondered why we were even open. Most of the Monday customers, if any, arrived within the last hour before we closed—leading to a ridiculously tiring, boring day. The bright side was that I got to catch up on some reading.

By three-thirty, an hour and a half until I could go home, the first customer of the day came in, and I felt my stomach tighten into an uncomfortable, anxious knot seconds before I saw that it was Cal.

He strode over to me at the register, an arm behind his back. With a smile, he pulled his arm out in front of him, presenting a bouquet of orange chrysanthemums. I titled my head slightly, confused. They weren't typical red roses.

"Thank you," I said, taking them from him and setting them on the counter behind me. "What's the occasion?"

Cal leaned against the counter towards me. "I wanted to apologize about yesterday." He said, golden eyes alight with desire.

I just stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"I should have never pressured you into making love, and I'm so sorry."

I shook my head. "You have nothing to apologize for." _Especially not after what I did._ "And I appreciate the flowers."

Cal smiled and reached for my hand on the counter. I let him take it. "You're welcome," he said, stroking his thumb over the back of my hand. "Do you want to get together later?" he asked, and then quickly added, "Not for that." Cal laughed. "But we could see a movie or something?"

"Isn't it a school night?" I asked, hoping for an out.

"That doesn't matter," he said offhandedly.

 _Because you're almost twenty?_ I thought, moving my hand from his to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Play it cool.

"I'm pretty beat—didn't go to sleep until late." I said easily. It wasn't a lie. "Rain check?"

"Hmm," Cal murmured. "Friday? I'll pick you up at your place around six?"

I shrugged. "Sure. That sounds good."

"Great." He came around the counter and kissed me softly. I reciprocated though I didn't want to. I needed to still be Cal's girlfriend.

Cal's _cheating_ girlfriend, I reminded myself. With his own brother.

* * *

"Where were you?" I demanded of my mother when I arrived home. She was sitting at the kitchen table, working away on her laptop. I sounded like a disapproving parent. "Gone all night and not show up for work?" I placed the flowers Cal had given me on the island.

She crossed her arms and leaned back, challenging me to continue. "I told you there was an issue in the coven." She said easily. "I didn't get home until this morning, and I felt I deserved a skip day to sleep."

I opened the door to the oven, investigating the smells of tomato sauce and herbs, and found a lasagna bubbling away.

"Speaking of sleep," she said in an overly casual way. "Whoever you had a sleepover with left his coat here."

The oven door slammed shut, rattling the spice jars, as I lost my grip on the handle. "What?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Have a seat, please." She gestured to the chair across from her, and I obediently sank into it.

"You're not going to give me 'the talk' again, are you?" I asked, crossing my right leg over my left. I set my hands in my lap. "No offense, but I don't think you can update it too much."

"You're right—I can't. But I _can_ lecture you on having your escapades in _my_ house."

My eyes widened. "We didn't, I swear. We were in my workroom—we forgot our coats in the living room because we were talking in there first."

"So you did do it?" she asked, and I nodded, not meeting her eyes.

We were open about sex, as were many witches. It was an expression of love and joy and passion—it was human nature, and it wasn't demonized in Wicca as it was in other religions. But I had never discussed my private life with my mom—mostly because there had never been one.

"Well, I'm surprised to say the least." She said, but not meanly. "You were so sure you would never want to."

I gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I changed my mind."

Mom nodded, though she seemed to be off in another world. "Morgan, love, I need to tell you something, and I need you to just listen and not get angry."

My eyes narrowed, but I stayed quiet to let her continue.

She let out a slow, concentrated breath. "Many years ago, I met a witch through your father and his… _coven_." She spat the word out as if it repulsed her. "She was very charismatic, very intelligent, and her power was astounding. But she was involved with dark magick like Ciaran. She was evil, Morgan. There is really no other way to describe it." Mom scoffed. "Goddess, Ciaran even told me about how she had learned from him to master the dark wave, and that she sent it after her unfaithful husband years after he'd left her."

Unbidden, a tear slipped from my eye and down my cheek as she confirmed Hunter's suspicions of Selene. I wiped it away with the back of my hand quickly.

"I don't know if she helped destroy Belwicket, but she is just as guilty as Ciaran is." Mom reached for my hand. "Morgan, this woman is Cal's mother."

I nodded. "I realized that." I cleared my throat. "Last night, I remembered meeting Cal when Dad took me to San Francisco—I knew Selene was involved with Dad."

She looked confused. "Was this _after_ —"

"No," I said quickly. "I wasn't… I wasn't _with_ Cal."

"So—"

"Someone else." I cut her off again. "I slept with someone else."

" _Really_?" she looked completely baffled.

Sighing, I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. "Do you remember me telling you about the guy I met last summer? Prior to getting my ass kicked by Iona?" Mom nodded, though she looked angry again at the memory of that incident. "He… he, um, works for the council. He's a Seeker, and was sent to Widow's Vale a couple of weeks ago to investigate Selene."

"But I thought you were dating Cal?"

"I was—am—I guess. I don't really know anymore. Anyway, last night Hunter came over to talk to me, and we just… picked up where we left off, and we talked, and I—I had these feelings for him all over again."

My mom stared at me, puzzled. "Do you feel like you can trust a member of the council?"

"I can trust _Hunter_." I stated without a shred of doubt. "I would trust him with my life."

"Have you ended things with Cal then?"

I shook my head. "Not yet—Hunter doesn't think I should. It would arouse suspicion."

She nodded. "He's probably right." Mom hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "You were safe, right? You remembered to use a contraceptive spell?"

I nodded automatically, though my brain was firing moments of doubt. _Had_ we used a spell? I couldn't remember.

"Good." She said, patting my hand. "Good. Morgan, I need you to be careful—with Cal, and now seeing someone else behind his back. Do you have any idea how badly this could blow up in your face?"

"Yes. But it won't—I'm being smart about this."

Mom groaned. "Being smart would have been not having sex with someone other than your boyfriend."

"A _boyfriend_ is a label—and besides, how much harm could _I_ cause? It's not like either of them has a wife and kids."

She threw a dishtowel at me. "Go wash up for dinner, you little harlot."

"Ouch."

She smirked at me as she went back to her work, and I went to the sink to wash my hands.


	15. Chapter 15

**I am so sorry for the time it's taken to update this story. I will be working on the next chapter shortly, and I will definitely have it up much sooner. Please review! I would love to hear what you all think so far!**

* * *

Two weeks.

Two long, anticlimactic weeks where I played the role of girlfriend to a guy I was having less and less feelings for with every passing day. I doubted Hunter was the reason—Cal and I really, truly had very little in common. I knew that even if Hunter had never come, my attraction to Cal would be outweighed eventually by his personality.

He was, I suppose, a dutiful boyfriend. Cal was polite and chivalrous, but there was an edge to him I knew was scratching at the surface to get out. Every time I argued his point or challenged him, Cal would look irritated and brush me off gruffly before he could lose his cool. I could tell, also, that the lack of physical intimacy was weighing on him. Our times alone had gotten more intense yet fewer and further between. After the last time, especially, when he'd held me down for far too long despite my demands to let me go, I had left his house without a word.

And Cal had then shown up at my doorstep with chocolates and a movie for us to watch as an apology.

I hadn't seen Hunter since the night of my birthday. I knew he was still around—from Cal's complaints—but he was distancing himself from me. Trying not to feel like the problem, I reminded myself that he had to focus his time and energy on Selene—not me.

Arriving home, I felt a small chill creep through me, subtly warning me. The driveway had three cars: my mom's, Selene's Jaguar, and a sleek black Mercedes I didn't recognize but was sure of its driver. Ciaran was here. I parked alongside the curb and got out, setting the alarm.

Warily, I sent my mom a witch message, asking if I should come in.

 _It's okay_ , she sent back.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door and was greeted by a mewing Dagda, stretching lazily on the arm of the couch.

"Hi," I said unnecessarily. I began taking off my coat and boots, taking my time, and even hung my coat on the coatrack and placed my boots in the shoe holder by the door—something neither my mom or I really cared to do under normal circumstances.

When I was done stalling for as long as I could, I scooped up a purring Dagda and made my way through the living room furniture to face them. Mom was sitting on the couch with Selene, and Cal and Ciaran had either arm chair.

Cal reached for my kitten-free hand and pulled me down to sit on the chair with him. I felt blush rush to my cheeks as I sat on his lap in front of my parents. Mom sent me what I'm sure was meant to be a reassuring smile, but her grimace reflected both of our feelings of this encounter.

"So what is this?" I asked after several moments of awkward silence. "Ciaran, why are you here? Aren't you usually with your wife in December?"

"Morgan," Mom murmured warningly, but I fixed my gaze on my father, waiting for his reply.

"Yes," he surprised me by saying. "And I will be there in a few days, but Selene and I felt it was time to get together and discuss your future."

My eyes widened, and I felt Cal's hands on my hips. I shifted uncomfortably and felt his grip tighten. Dagda wriggled out of my hand and hopped down to the floor to make his exit, sensing the tension in the room.

"Future?" I asked him. I glanced over to Selene, who had a triumphant sort of smile etched into her nearly flawless face.

"With Cal." Selene added.

"With Cal?" I repeated, feeling lost. "What're you _talking_ about?"

Ciaran and Selene exchanged glances, and Selene said, "We feel this relationship is beneficial to us all. We would like to see you two take it a step further."

Cal was silent, and I knew he had been involved with this plan from the beginning.

"And by further, you mean...?" I pressed.

"We would like you to have a handfasting."

"No." I said automatically, and then I stood up to get out of Cal's grasp. "No, you can't expect me to do that."

"You _will_ do this." Ciaran's voice was harsh, demanding, and I crossed my arms over my chest defiantly.

"Ciaran, you can't force her!" Mom snapped, and then looked to me. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Ciaran smacked his hand down angrily on the leather arm of the chair and turned his glare onto my mother. "Maeve, this is not your decision."

"Nor is it yours." She retorted.

"Morgan, come on," Cal murmured softly, grabbing my hand and holding onto my fingers as my parents argued. I looked down at him, at his inhumanly golden eyes, his perfect face.

I shook my head. "I can't marry you."

Cal sighed. "We can grow to love each other." he promised, as if it was that easy. "I'll provide for you, and we'll be initiated into Amyranth." He dropped his voice even lower, glancing over to make sure the adults were still enthralled in their argument. "We'll have powerful, pure Woodbane children to carry on our legacies. We'll be unstoppable."

I pulled my hand back, appalled. He was unbelievable. "I don't want that!" I spat. "I will _never_ want that!"

As I started out of the living room and towards the stairs, Ciaran yelled, "Get back here!"

Taking a deep, furious breath, I turned on my heel and glared at my father, willing myself to keep from setting him on fire at that moment. "I will _not_ marry him!" I hissed. "I don't love him. I don't even _like_ him!"

Cal's expression went from anger to hurt in a matter of seconds, and the tiniest part of my heart felt guilty for hurting him. The rest of me, though, hated him and everything he stood for.

"I won't join your coven, Ciaran." I added, and watched his hazel eyes as they darkened and narrowed. "Amyranth will _never_ get my power."

"Yes, you will." He countered. "You will join Amyranth, you will marry Cal, and you will do everything I say or you will be sorry."

"You don't scare me." I laughed, feeling for the first time control in a conversation with my father. Mostly I laughed by the truth of my words—I wasn't scared of him. He could kill me, yes, but I was too valuable to him to do so. Ciaran stood and came within a foot of me, towering over me by almost half a foot. "You're pathetic, Ciaran! God, you are so pathetic!" I giggled, the strength flowing through me almost dangerous.

Some part of my brain was sending warning signals. Back down, back off, retreat, _hide_.

But I didn't. I stayed, and I kept antagonizing him, and it felt _good_.

"You couldn't even leave your wife for the woman you loved—you're a coward! I'll be _damned_ if I grow up to be anything like you!"

In that moment, in that briefest of seconds before I was on the ground, my head smacking onto the wooden floor, I heard my mother screaming Ciaran's name.

I tasted blood, and as I lifted myself into a half-sitting position, I felt it dribble down my chin and saw the deep red pool onto the threads of my cream-colored sweater. Mom was over to me in an instant, grabbing my chin to look at my lip.

"Leave, now!" Mom ordered to the three of them, now circling us with varying degrees of concern.

Selene nodded to Cal, and they collected their coats and made their way out of the house without a word. I stared straight into Ciaran's eyes, refusing to back down. His attack, though I'm sure would hurt like hell once the shock wore off, was nothing to what he was planning to do to me for refusing his and Selene's plans.

Mom stood, pulling me up with her. "You heard her." I said, daring him to keep fighting.

"This isn't over." He growled, and then grabbed his own coat and left through the open door. As he slammed it behind him, rattling the windows and startling a sleeping Trixie, the pentacle we kept over the door for protection smacked onto the floor and shattered.

Mom and I stared at it, horrified. The pentacle had been above the door for the last twelve years, since we had moved in, and it had never fallen. Mom and I had made it when I was four, with twigs from the trees in the forest behind our old house and adorned with stones and crystals for happiness, protection, and love.

I left my mom's arms to examine the wreckage. The twigs had snapped and splintered off; the stones and crystals were an unrecognizable array of sharp colors strewn across the floor. The bloodstone, my stone, which had been at the center, was the only thing still in one piece. I reached for it and held it gingerly in my palm, expecting to feel warmth of another witch's spell emanating from it.

But it was cool, and as I closed my fingers over it, the stone broke apart and fell into sharp chunks to the ground to join the ruins of my childhood safety.

Shaking, I turned my hand over for the rest of the stone's bits to fall off my hand. I wiped my hand on my jeans and turned to look up at my mom.

"This is very bad, isn't it?"

"Yes." Mom whispered, her eyes fixated on the mess. "This is _very_ bad, Morgan."


	16. Chapter 16

_"_ _There has to be another way!" Cal insisted, sounding far away and muffled._

 _"_ _She refused our offer, Sgáth!" Selene hissed. "She refused_ _you_ _!"_

 _I clawed at my eyelids desperately, trying to pry them open, but I couldn't. I was entirely weighted down. I was spelled into paralysis. That realization terrified me more than the voices, and I tried to scream._

 _Oh, Goddess, what was happening?_

 _The last thing I remembered was going to bed after cleaning up the broken pentacle—the feeling of safety I'd held close to my heart almost all my life had been dismantled, and I was left vulnerable, weak._

 _"_ _Maybe I can still convince her—it's not too late."_

 _"_ _Yes it is."_

 _The blood in my veins turned ice cold at the sound of my father's voice. In that one moment, I knew what they were doing. I knew why I was bound, why I had been spelled so strongly._

 _My father was going to steal my powers._

 _My find frantically started sending witch messages to my mother, to Hunter, to Alyce. Someone, anyone, help! But the efforts were futile—Ciaran would have known better than to leave the walls of my imprisonment open for communication._

 _Then Ciaran's voice was right at my ear, and I felt just the barest sensation of his hand stroking my hair back from my face._

 _"_ _You should have listened to me, daughter." He murmured gently. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you left me no choice."_

 _"_ _Please, Ciaran, just let me keep trying. I know I can get her on our side." Cal was pleading with him desperately, and I felt Ciaran leave me. The sounds of scuffling and a hard slam followed, and I tried not to imagine the scene before my blind eyes._

 _"_ _She is not going to join us willingly, Sgáth! She betrayed me—this is what she deserves!" Another slam, and I heard Cal cry out._

 _With a disappointed sigh, Ciaran said, "You had so much potential, my Morgan. You could have been the greatest witch to have ever existed—you could have been worthy of being the sgiùrs dàn. All you had to do was join me, and the world would have been yours for the taking."_

 _Ciaran started stroking my hair again in a loving, fatherly gesture, and I wanted to weep. All my life, my father had never been affectionate with any of us, his children. To have him now as the type of father I wished for—begged for—was the worst kind of fate I could imagine._

 _How awful it was to know deep down that I wanted his praise, his acceptance for who I was and my abilities. I hated myself for it. I hated my hidden desires to be the best, to be all powerful, to be feared and envied. I hated that I was more like Ciaran than Maeve._

 _If I were capable of moving, I would curl up and cry until the rite was over and I was left a hollow shell of misery. I wished an army of powerful witches would come storm wherever I was and fight against them._

 _But I was alone._

 _No one would fight for me, and I couldn't fight for myself. There was no point when I would surely lose against a MacEwan witch. If I valued myself and my powers enough, I should at least try to fight. But the lack of strength I felt combined with the anticipation of the end proved how worthless of a witch I truly was._

 _I didn't value myself. I was an irresponsible girl who lucked into a thousand years of powerful magick. I was the sgiùrs dàn, the destroyer, and that's all I've ever been. From the moment of my conception, I had ruined countless lives._

 _Maeve deserved better than me._

 _"_ _My one act of kindness to you, Morgan—my youngest, brightest child—is that you won't feel this." Ciaran's final whisper to me was warm, calming, and I felt my anxiety, my fear, and my desperation to get out slip away into submission._

 _I wouldn't feel it when I died—I won't even be aware of it. To have my powers ripped from me, as powerful as I was, would kill me. To lose my thoughts, my consciousness completely truly was a gift, and I welcomed it._

 _I thought of Hunter and the night we had shared. It felt like an eternity ago. I felt sorrow over knowing I would never feel that physical connection to him again. I thought about how I didn't even try to reach out to him before leaving him that summer—I was too broken up and involved with myself to even consider how he might have felt._

 _Goddess, I was such a waste._

 _Barely, as if filtered through layers upon layers of cotton, I heard Gaelic chanting. The words I could make out were dark and unfamiliar, yet they sounded so natural coming from their mouths. It was almost as if this was a normal occurrence._

 _My memories were fading fast, quicker than I thought they would have, and before long I couldn't remember my mother's face, the names of my cats, my favorite color… it was all vanishing in a swirl of confusion._

 _The voices stopped, and I was alone in a blank mind._

 _I didn't know my own name._

 _"_ _No!" one of the men shouted._

 _"_ _Do you realize what you've done?" A woman in a furious tone demanded. "You've ruined everything! You swore to me nothing happened with her!"_

 _"_ _It didn't!" the voice sounded smoother, not as harsh or ravaged by age. "I tried, but she rejected me! I don't know how this happened."_

 _"_ _What's happened is Ciaran's precious child here likes to get around!" the woman hissed. "If she was going to have a child, it was supposed to be_ _your_ _child, Sgáth! It was supposed to be pure Woodbane!"_

 _The other man was silent, but I heard him pacing around. The woman continued to scream._

 _"_ _All you had to do was seduce her. You failed." The pacing man finally spoke, his voice carefully controlled. "You failed to give Amyranth a child, and you almost cost Morgan her life."_

 _"_ _Almost?" the woman screeched. "What does_ _almost_ _mean?"_

 _"_ _We will carry on with our first part of the plan."_

 _The woman laughed maliciously. "You don't know what the other half of her bastard is—what if it has hardly any power?"_

 _"_ _You underestimate me, Selene, and you underestimate my daughter's inheritance. Her child will be powerful enough to destroy even you."_

 _"_ _We'll see about that."_

* * *

I gasped in a breath as I awoke, feeling the tightness constrict my lungs with the taxing action. I was freezing and lying on the floor of my workroom, completely naked. I looked down at myself, seeing the faintest outlines of runes and sigils, as if they'd been quickly scrubbed off. My skin was as white as I'd ever seen it, my fingertips turning a garish shade of light red. They were numb. I shivered, my teeth chattering. I couldn't feel my lips.

I turned over onto my knees as best as I could and crawled to the fireplace. With shaking hands, I threw logs and kindling in and concentrated on lighting the kindling.

A sob tore through my throat as I watched my tiny flames wink out into nothingness. I couldn't light a fire to warm myself. I really was useless.

I tucked a floor pillow underneath me and wrapped a thick wool blanket around myself, rocking back and forth as I sobbed at the horror my mind had conjured up. It had seemed so real, so vivid—trapped in darkness, my soul up for the taking by the purest of evil.

If I believed in the devil, I would have sworn I met him in my dreams tonight.

 _"_ _Morgan!"_ A faint voice cried. I tried to latch onto it, to remember whose voice it was, but my mind was still blank.

The door to the little room opened with a bang, and it took only a second for my mind to register my mother standing in the doorway, illuminated by only my magesight.

She rushed over to me and held me while a cried, rubbing my back and arms and cradling me against her as if I were still a child.

"Where were you?" she demanded, her voice hysterical. "You weren't in bed, you weren't out here—Goddess, Morgan, do you have any idea what I went through tonight?"

I pulled away from her, wrapping the blanket tighter around me. Her green eyes were almost entirely hidden by her dilated pupils. She looked absolutely manic—terrified, even.

She took my hands in hers and rubbed them hard, trying to draw blood back into my fingertips.

"I don't know what happened," I choked out. "I was asleep and then—" I cut myself off, trying to remember my dream. But it was slipping away from me fast, the details not making sense as I tried to piece them together.

"And then what?"

I shook my head. "I can't remember." I whispered, seeing my breath come out in a puff. "But I think Dad was involved." I swallowed hard and looked down at myself, at my bare legs that weren't able to be covered by the blanket. "And Cal and Selene."

Mom looked about ready to cry herself as she said, "I had this awful dream that you had been taken—that Ciaran was trying to take your power, and all I could do was watch." Her breath was shallow, ragged, and I understood her relief at finding me. "Then I woke up and couldn't find you. I tried your room, I looked in here. Your car was gone, so I drove around but couldn't find you—you were just _gone_." She paused to compose herself, brushing a stray tear off her cheek. "When I got back, your car was in its space as it was earlier, as if you had been home all this time. Where did you go?"

"I don't know." I said shakily, my eyes flooding with tears. I had no memories of leaving my bed, of going to the place where Ciaran, Cal, and Selene had been.

She wiped the tear tracks from my face and held my cheek, staring fiercely into my eyes. "Don't ever do that to me again."

I nodded, though what happened hadn't been my choice.

"Let's get inside the house."

"Okay," I agreed. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and stood, my mom helping me.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I don't know," I said again as I glanced down at my bare feet. I held the blanket closed with one hand and let my mom lead me through the backyard with my other hand.

I never wanted to sleep again.

* * *

After the events of the night before, I had been granted a sick day from work, and Mom agreed to go in for me. I had spent the majority of the day locked in the house with every bit of protective magick I knew surrounding me.

The night came earlier than I had been prepared for, and Mom still wasn't home. By five o'clock, it was already pitch black outside—the nearest streetlight casting a faint glow on the house across the street and missing us completely.

Little Dagda snoozed away against my stomach, pushing himself as close as possible while I lay on the couch watching TV. I stroked his bat-like ears absently, my mind working over the one solid memory I had from my dream.

I could scry to find out for sure, but trying to scry when I was emotional had never worked out for me. I could never control the visions I saw.

Sitting up, I placed Dagda on a little pillow. He looked grumpy as he stretched, arching his back, and then plopped down into a tiny ball to go back to sleep. Trixie was watching me from her perch on the mantel next to the TV, her cat eyes appraising me knowingly. With a sense of dread, I got up, put on my coat and shoes, and headed out to my car.

The drive to the closest drug store felt like it took an hour with everyone rushing out for their Christmas shopping after work. The closest spot I could find was at the end of a long row of cars, and I had to take a deep breath before getting out, my nerves taking over.

Even with my magesight, I was terrified to be alone in the darkness. Even if I could see, regular people couldn't, and no one would help if I were attacked or taken.

I flipped down my visor and slid the mirror open, the tiny vanity light giving my eyes a warm glow.

"Get a grip." I told myself firmly, but my expression remained solemn.

I popped open my door, grabbing my purse and keys before jumping out. My boots crunched in the icy snow as I made my way carefully into the large store. As I had predicted, the Christmas displays were being picked through ruthlessly. Christmas wasn't even for another week and a half, yet these people—most people—were stocking up now.

I made my away around them and down to the charmingly named "Family Planning" aisle, rolling my eyes at the subtle yet intentional placement of the boxes of condoms directly next to the pregnancy tests. I grabbed a two-pack of the early detection kind, wincing at the price. It was more than I made in an hour.

One thing was for sure: if I _was_ pregnant, I would need a better job.

As I walked up to get in line for the registers, I looked around at the ransacked displays. The magazines had been read, put back in the wrong place with many pages bent or slightly torn. The candy and gum had been picked through, leaving one or two in each box or none at all. As I got closer, I set my box of teenage shame on the belt with a divider after it and grabbed a tin of cinnamon Altoids.

I frowned, remembering the time not too long ago when I had actually had a friend in school. Her name had been Sarah Thompson and we had been paired together in class. She had been surprisingly cool, an admitted atheist, and was the least judgmental person I had ever met. Around October, a month before I dropped out, we had come to this very drug store to buy the exact item I had on the belt. She had learned from some TV show that you should buy many different items so the pregnancy test would be overlooked—as if a fresh-faced teenager buying one could ever be overlooked. Sarah had been so cool about it, so sure that she wasn't, that when the test read positive, she became an entirely different person.

That was the last time I had seen Sarah.

Her parents—strict Catholics entirely unlike her—had been so horrified by her pregnancy that they immediately pulled her from school and sent her off. The story around school was she went to live with her grandparents because her mom was sick, but I knew she had been sent to a home for girls in her situation, and would have had to give the baby up in the end.

"Miss?"

My eyes snapped up to the cashier, startled. "Uh, yeah, sorry." I looked at the total and pulled out a twenty from my wallet.

The older woman, with the yellow smiley face pin next to her name tag—MAGGIE—gave me a sad, concerned smile as she handed me the change and receipt. "Have a good night."

"You too," I said quickly, grabbing my bag.

I raced home, desperate to beat my mother as I noticed the time.

By some miracle, she still wasn't home. I sighed with relief and went inside the house, dumping my purse and coat on the bench by the door. I went upstairs to my bathroom and got out the test, nearly ripping the box and half.

I turned on my little radio and the shower in case my mom came home in the three minutes it took to take. As I finished, I set the test on the counter and sat on the edge of my tub. I took off my boots and set them in front of the hamper, and then changed into an old T-shirt that was overdue for a washing and a pair of gray sweatpants.

If I were a proper witch who took my natural abilities seriously and used them to serve a purpose, I would have known instinctually if I were pregnant. I would be zen, in tune with my body. I would be the kind of woman the Goddess would see herself in.

But I was a spoiled, selfish, _irresponsible_ only child who expected others to clean up her messes. My legacy was tarnished by my very being.

I watched the minutes pass on my clock radio, sighing as a lame pop song played for the twentieth time today. At the three minute mark, I grabbed the test off the counter, fearing for the worst yet hoping in vain for the best.

The positive sign mocked me, and I flung it into the trash bin, not even bothering with the second stick. For the first time in my life, I knew without a shred of doubt that this was a mess no one could fix for me.

After I hid the evidence in the garbage can by the curb, I went to bed, not caring that it was only six o'clock.


	17. Chapter 17

**So sorry for the lack of updates. I haven't been able to focus on writing, and ended up taking a much longer break than anticipated. I am working on the next chapter now and will have it out ASAP.**

* * *

"Morgan?"

I looked up at the sound of my name, meeting eyes with a very tense-looking Maeve. She handed me a steaming mug of tea and leaned against the doorframe, watching me as I sat on the floor of my bedroom. I sipped the tea gratefully, feeling the comforting effects of the heat and mint sliding smoothly down my throat.

"Have you been up all night?"

I nodded, and then stretched my legs out and stared into my open closet. In the middle of the night I had gotten the urge to purge myself of clothes I would soon no longer be able to wear, and my half-hearted efforts resulted in such a mess that I hadn't been able to shut the closet door when my energy wore off.

"You have a visitor."

I looked up at her again, frowning. "Who?"

"Tall, cute, blonde…"

I sighed. Of course he would show up _now_. "You can send him up. I don't feel like moving."

She seemed hesitant, looking over her shoulder to the staircase. "Sweetheart, you're worrying me."

"I'm fine," I started to object, but her watery eyes shut me up.

"I have to go in to work," she said, wiping her eyes briefly with her sweater sleeve. "I think it would do you some good to move around—go talk to him, take a shower, do… something. Please."

I nodded again, swallowing another sip of tea. I got up slowly, creakily, like I was seventy instead of seventeen. When I was upright and at the door, Mom reached for me, and I hugged her back hard. When we parted, wordlessly, she took my free hand and led me down the stairs. As I spotted Hunter waiting by the door, I felt my stomach clench into an uncomfortable knot.

Even if I weren't pregnant I think I still would have felt uneasy seeing him just then. I hadn't seen or spoken to him since that night, and Mom knew—to my utter humiliation—that Hunter and I had had sex. Maybe it would have been easier if they'd met earlier… before said sexual encounter and subsequent illegitimate conception.

Maybe if we had taken the boyfriend/girlfriend route first, gone the proper way, waited till we had some sort of commitment to each other before sleeping together, this whole fucked up scenario would have seemed less daunting.

Mom grabbed her coat and purse and turned back to me. "I'll be home late tonight," she said as she slid her arms into her coat sleeves. "Money's in the kitchen if you want to order out."

"Thank you," I said, shivering. Last night, sometime after Mom had gone to bed, I had turned all the heaters off. The warm air made me sleepy, and the last thing I wanted to do was be vulnerable in my cozy bed again. "I'll work all weekend, if you want. Give Alyce a break."

She nodded appreciatively. "She'll be glad to hear it," she replied with a small smile. Mom glanced at her watch. "Please try to get a nap in at some point."

"I'll try," I promised.

As my mother left the house, she threw over her shoulder, "It was nice to meet you!" to Hunter.

After a few moments, when I heard her car starting up, I dragged my gaze to his.

"Hi," I said shyly.

"Hi. You look like hell," Hunter replied with a little mischievous grin. He took off his coat and set it over the back of the couch.

"I feel like hell." I agreed, pulling my unwashed hair into a stringy, untidy bun.

Hunter shivered and rubbed his hands together. "Why is it so cold in here?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked around the small living room, my gaze falling longingly on the well-used fireplace. "The cold keeps me awake." I said softly. I met his calculating green eyes. "Sleep hasn't exactly been friendly lately."

"Or good hygiene."

I rolled my eyes, trying not to let him see me crack a smile. "I brush my teeth—really good about that."

"Good to know." He smirked and pulled me to him, ducking his head to kiss me on the lips. I held his face in my hands, my fingertips stroking the smooth, freshly-shaven skin of his jaw.

I pulled away first, feeling self-conscious. "I'm going to go take a shower." I said, giving him another quick kiss. "Make yourself at home."

* * *

When I got out of the shower, I put on an old sweater I often wore to bed. It had originally been black, but had seen so many washes that it was now various shades of dark gray. The sleeves were fitted comfortably against my wrists, but the rest of it had stretched down long enough to be a short dress. Hunter was in my room when I came in, lying on my bed and looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I grabbed a pair of underwear from my drawer and slid them on underneath my sweater.

Without breaking his concentration, he shifted over to make room for me. I laid down next to him and crossed my leg over his and rested my head on his firm chest. Hunter's hand came up and stroked the rope-like strands of my combed, wet hair.

"Why do you have all this?" he asked, still looking at the whitish-green pieces of plastic plastered to the stucco above us.

I tilted my chin up to kiss him on his neck just below his jaw. "Before my magesight kicked in, I used to be scared of the dark. Still am, sometimes." I sighed contentedly, feeling so at ease in his arms. "I know they don't really give off much light, but they just make me feel safe, I guess. More at home."

The wind outside picked up ferociously, smacking snow-covered branches repeatedly against the side of the house. Behind Hunter I could see the swirling white flakes dance against the light gray backdrop of the cold winter day. It made me shiver again just looking at it.

Hunter half sat up and grabbed my comforter from the end of the bed to pull over us.

"No—"

"Morgan, you're freezing." He argued, wrapping us both up. His hands rubbed my arms and back, trying to warm me up.

"Please, Hunter, I—I don't want to risk falling asleep."

Hunter leaned over me, brushing my wet hair off my shoulder. "What's going on with you?" he asked, sounding frustrated. "If you don't tell me, I'll have to come up with an explanation in my head that I'm sure would be worse than what actually happened."

I put my hand over my eyes, trying to think of what to say. On the one hand, he would need to hear what happened because Selene and Cal were involved. On the other hand, if I went into great detail about the dream—what I could remember, anyway—then it would lead into my confession about the baby.

"Morgan," he pressed gently, his hand stroking up and down my side.

I uncovered my eyes and looked at him. Seeing the genuine concern in his face eased the gnawing in my gut, and I took a deep breath. "I had this…dream, the other night." I said slowly. I turned onto my back to look up at the stars again. "Um, my dad—Ciaran, he and Selene and Cal were all there. I was spelled. I couldn't move, or speak, or open my eyes but I heard everything." I swallowed again, feeling the prickle of tears threatening to slide down my face. "I've been remembering more and more since I woke up. They were preparing to steal my power—just rip it away from me." I wiped my eyes with my sweater sleeves. "Ciaran is threatened by me, and I've refused to join him, and I refused to marry Cal—"

"What?" he demanded, his harsh tone ringing in the quiet of the house. "Cal asked you to marry him. In the dream?"

I shook my head. "The night before last Cal, Selene, and Ciaran were all over here and it was Ciaran and Selene's plan for us to have a handfasting. I refused him, and Ciaran hit me, and then that night I had the dream. I remember Cal wanting there to be a different way, and him saying something like, 'just give me more time,' like he could change my mind. They wanted me—or my power, I guess, to be on Amyranth's side. Ciaran spelled me so I would be unaware when it happened, so I would just fade into nothing. But he stopped, and he and Selene went after Cal, and I woke up in my workroom, covered in smudged sigils and barely aware of what happened."

Hunter pressed his lips to my forehead tenderly, and I took in a shaky breath, trying to stop my crying.

I hadn't told my mom anything since I started to remember the bits and pieces of the nightmare. I didn't want to worry her. How could I tell her all the details? How could I tell her about the baby and Amyranth's plans for it? I couldn't—there was no way.

"Morgan," Hunter's voice was low and serious, and I glanced up at him. He cupped my cheek in his strong held and held my gaze. "Do you really think it was a dream?"

Like leaky faucets, tears started to drift down my cheeks and over the tip of my nose from the angle I was at. "No," I choked out, and then started to sob achy, gut-wrenching sobs, and Hunter held me hard against him.

As I cried, everything came out. All my fears and worries flew from my mouth unintelligibly, each word as painful as the last with their truth. I was scared, _terrified_ , of what was to come with my father and his coven. I knew I was going to die by their hands—I just didn't know when.

"I feel like I failed you," I whispered when the sobs subsided. "I didn't help you like I said I would."

"No, no you didn't," he soothed, kissing my cheek. "I'll report the details of what happened to my mentor. I'm sure it will help, actually."

"Yeah?" I asked, hopeful.

He wiped the sticky tears from my face. "What made them stop, though? What made them stop and go after Cal?"

"They realized there was a baby, and they decided that it was more valuable to them than I was."

There was a sickening silence for several long minutes, and I could hear the wind again in full force, the smacking of tree branches, the breezy howling. Downstairs I could hear the ticking of the clock next to the entryway. I could hear a cat's paws padding along the wood floor. My antique bed creaked softly as I shifted away from Hunter.

"You're pregnant." A statement, not a question.

"Yes." I murmured. I laid on my back and ran my sleeves over my face. My tears stopped, but the aching in my chest became a twist in my stomach as I waited for his reaction.

Hunter sat up and stared at the wall in front of us. "Have you thought of a plan?"

"Not yet—I'm not even sure if I want it."

After a moment Hunter looked back at me. "What does that mean?"

My fingers played with the hem of my sweater nervously as I thought about how to answer him. My words were not to be taken lightly, and I needed to be careful with how I approached it. "I don't think it's smart if I have it. It's not about being able to afford it or wanting to still be a kid and have a life—if what I remember Ciaran saying is true, they'll take the baby from me and would probably still kill me. It's not going to end, Hunter. He won't give up until I'm dead or powerless, and if they can get my child and raise it in Amyranth, of course they'll do it. I'm going to die anyway—why would I give them more power?"

A banging on the front door made us jump, neither of us sensing someone coming up to the house. Hunter was up and out of my bedroom before my senses could pick up on Cal outside.


	18. Chapter 18

**So… this chapter wasn't out as soon as I had hoped, but here it is! I'm going to have this story finished by next Friday (September 2) because I only have a few chapters left, and I'm leaving for Ireland next Saturday and won't have a chance to update until the end of September.**

 **And thanks so much for the reviews! Just a few more to go so hopefully you'll all like how this story ends! :)**

* * *

I bolted after Hunter, trying to stop him, but he got to the door before I could and yanked it open.

Cal's eyes narrowed instantly, and he pushed past Hunter to come inside. "What the hell are you doing here, Niall?" He demanded.

"I should be asking you the same," Hunter countered.

When Cal saw me, he tried to push Hunter out of the way to get to me but his protective stance was firm and unwavering.

"Cal, why are you here?" I asked cautiously.

He reached for my hand but I pulled it back reflexively, like he was a snake striking. His deep golden eyes narrowed in calculation as he took in the scene before him. After several agonizing moments, the realization sunk in, and he shook his head incredulously, eyes furious.

"It's him, isn't it?" Cal demanded. "You didn't even care about me at all, did you? Dammit! When you said you knew him—have you been fucking him this whole time?" he roared.

My eyes widened and darted between the two of them. "Of course not," I said, stepping away from both of them. "Why would you think that?"

Cal was visibly hurt and enraged, eyes glaring into mine without restraint. I chanced another glance at Hunter and he was stoic, expressionless, not giving either of us any indication what he was thinking.

"Cal, I know that you know." I crossed my arms over my chest tightly, not looking him in the eyes as I spoke. "Be honest with me. Did Selene and Ciaran send you here? Not just today, but a few months ago—did they send you here to try to be with me, to bring me over to their side?"

"Of course they did," Hunter spoke after a moment. "Why else would he try so hard?" He scoffed, seeming amused. "You've never put so much effort into one girl. Why her?"

The way he said it, so nonchalant, set off a deep-rooted pang of uncertainty and insecurity, and, unbidden, surprisingly angry tears began to drip down my flushed cheeks.

 _Why her?_

Those two words, in any other situation harmless, set off a storm within me. _Why her?_ It sounded like I was useless, unimportant. I was something that could be pushed to the side.

Before Cal could answer him, I went around them to the door and yanked it open. "I want you both to leave." I ordered. "Cal, you can tell my father to go to hell! I am done being Amyranth's puppet, you got that?"

"Mor—"

"No!" I shouted, startling Trixie, and she ran out through the open door. "I don't care what you have to say anymore, I just want you to leave and to stay away from me!"

I couldn't remember the last time I had been so angry, shaking so hard with rage. Cal, without another word, stormed out, kicking a frost-deadened potted plant into shards down the porch steps along the way.

"Right, well," Hunter said dryly, leaning back against the couch. "I'm going to need to contact my mentor at the council, let him know what Amyranth has planned for you."

I shook my head in disbelief. I was falling apart, and he was businesslike, emotionless. "And what would you say exactly?" I asked, my voice cold. "That you had sex with your assignment's girlfriend? That you got her pregnant, and now Amyranth wants that child?"

"I probably wouldn't say it in those words exactly," he said with a smirk.

"I don't understand you," I choked out. "Sometimes you're so serious that everything I say and do is calculated, under suspicion. You make me feel like I'm a child always getting into something I shouldn't." I spat. "And if you're not doing that, if you're not _parenting_ me, you're treating everything as a joke."

His smile faded quickly, as if seeming to understand, like he really heard every word I said. Hunter straightened up and came over to me, pulling me into his warmth. "I'm so sorry, Morgan, I really am." Hunter murmured against my hair.

I pulled away from him, sniffling. "I think I need to be alone right now." I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "At least _try_ to sleep."

Hunter brushed my hair back behind my ear. "I'll stay with you, if you want. Make sure nothing happens."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Yeah," I whispered with a soft, broken laugh. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thank you."

He kissed my temple and led us back up the stairs, Hunter kicking the front door shut.

* * *

When I awoke, Hunter was sleeping soundly next to me, his hand resting on the minimal curve of my waist. It was dark out, the stars on my ceiling giving off a dim whitish-green glow, my string lights across my headboard casting soft light throughout the room. I leaned up enough to look at the clock on my nightstand past Hunter, and saw that it was already seven-thirty. My mom should be home any minute.

I bent down to kiss Hunter gently on the lips, waking him up. He groaned sleepily, looking rumpled in a boyish way. I never got to see this side of him—he was almost always intense, making him seem years older than he really was.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his silky blonde hair falling ever so slightly over his inhumanly green eyes.

"Dreamless," I said proudly. "You must be my good luck charm."

He laughed and pulled me down to him, molding his body against mine. "Should we make this a habit, then?"

I grinned. "You'll have to have that conversation with Maeve, because I sure as hell won't."

Hunter stroked a finger down my cheek, across my jaw. "Are you afraid of your mother? She can't be any worse than your father."

I giggled, still feeling sleepy. "I can handle Ciaran," I murmured. "I'm tough enough. But I can't handle disappointing my mom. She means too much to me, and I can't keep anything from her—she'll drag it out of me."

"So do you want me to tell her that you're pregnant?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course not, though that would make it easier." I sighed. "If she wouldn't be able to sense it eventually, I wouldn't tell her until I've made up my mind about keeping it."

"Would it be the worst thing if we did keep it?"

I looked at him, eyes wide. "We?"

He stroked his hand up and down my waist. "You can't honestly think I'd leave you alone in this."

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know you that well, do I?"

Hunter pulled me beneath him and kissed me, resting his weight comfortably on top of me. "I'll support whatever decision you make."

"What about your job? I can't slow you down, Hunter. I'd never forgive myself."

"And I would never forgive myself if I abandoned you and… our child."

My eyes flicked to his, a new understanding between us. It wasn't just mine… it was _ours_. Both of ours.

"But that doesn't stop Amyranth's plans." I said softly. "Ciaran will kill me, one way or another. I _know_ that." I swallowed hard, the pain of my words hitting me with full force. "But I would rather die. I would gladly give my life to stop my father, and I can't do that if I have this baby. They'll take her, Hunter. They'll raise her, make her evil, make her into the kind of woodbane we've all been trying so hard to get rid of."

Hunter wiped the tears from my cheeks and brushed my hair back from my forehead. "I have connections with the council, Morgan. We can make sure Amyranth will never come near you again."

I bit my lip. "You know you don't really believe that."

"Morgan!" my mom startled us by calling from outside my door. I wondered why neither of us sensed her, but figured that she had probably cloaked herself. She opened the door just as Hunter got off of me, and I sat up quickly.

"Morgan, come downstairs please. I need to have a word with you." She left the door open as she went back into the hall, the heels of her shoes clicking loudly on the stairs.

I let my head drop back against my pillow and held his face in my hands. "I think it's time I face the music."

* * *

"I can't believe this," Mom was visibly enraged, her neck and cheeks flushing streaky shades of red. "This isn't like keeping a _cat_ , Morgan! You said you were safe—so you not only lied to me about that, you've been lying to me for days about a baby!"

"I couldn't think of a way to tell you." My voice was small.

She came down to sit across from me at the kitchen table. "What's the plan? You've been making adult decisions lately, so what's your grand plan?" Mom shook her head and scoffed. "You're still a baby yourself, Morgan." she sounded disgusted—with herself, with me. "That's my fault—I baby you, I protect you too much. I suppose you want me to make this choice for you, then?"

I swallowed and stared at the pattern of the woven placemats. "I'm not going to have it," I said firmly. "I haven't told you everything about the dream—Ciaran, Selene, and Cal were trying to steal my power, and they stopped when they sensed the baby. Mom, they want my baby for Amyranth. You know that can't happen—I can't let that happen."

Mom looked stricken, green eyes wide, face pale. "You don't want to keep the baby because of a dream?" she asked slowly, carefully.

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. "It wasn't a dream, Mom. It couldn't have been." I looked at her pleadingly, desperate for her to understand. "You considered it with me, right? You feared for my safety and wanted to spare me the pain of being a witch. Why can't you support this decision?"

She reached across the table and gripped my hands tightly. "Morgan, you're scared right now. You're not thinking clearly."

"Yes, I am!" I argued. "You said it yourself that I was still a child—you want me to start making adult decisions, fine! I need to have an abortion. She won't be safe from them if I have her."

Mom's eyes looked pained suddenly, and she took her hands back. "It's a girl?"

I closed my eyes and rubbed them tiredly. "Yes," I murmured.

When I opened my eyes, she cleared her throat and tucked a lock of wavy hair back behind her ear. "I wasn't strong enough to get an abortion. I didn't want you to have this life when mine was so destructive."

"Or you didn't want me because I was Ciaran's." I interjected.

"No!" she snapped. "I was glad you were his. When I made the decision to keep you, I was _thankful_ you were Ciaran's—I could keep a part of him with me for the rest of my life."

"That's sick." I spat. "He, to this day, won't leave his wife for you, and you're happy I _belong_ to him? That I'm your tie to him?" I stood up to leave, but she caught my arm to stop me.

She placed her other hand over mine. "Please listen to me," she begged. "What I'm trying to say is that I never, not for one moment, regretted keeping you. You will always be the best decision I ever made—the best thing that _ever_ happened to me. Don't ever doubt that."

"You want me to keep the baby? Is that what you're getting at?"

"I want you to take the fear of his threat out of it. Would you still want an abortion?"

I shook my head, not looking at her.

"Then don't do it. We'll find a way to make it work."

I nodded once and left without a word, not sure of anything at that moment.


	19. Chapter 19

**So... traveling can take a lot out of a person. I wanted this to be perfect, and it took a while to fight my jet-lag after coming home, so please forgive me for the delay. I really love this chapter, and I wouldn't have been happy with it unless I took the brief hiatus for my study abroad trip. I hope you all enjoy, and I'll be working on the next chapter soon.**

* * *

"Kind of a lot to take in, huh?" I asked, grinning at the shocked expression on Alyce's face. I hopped down from the step stool and slid it down to the next bookshelf.

"How did Maeve take the news?" she asked, wrapping her hand-knitted sweater more tightly around her. We were in the second hellish week of heating problems, and every time a customer entered the store, the cold air would swarm in and linger for several minutes.

I shrugged and climbed back up, an empty box under my left arm. "She freaked at first—not surprising—but she's sure she wants me to keep it." I sighed as I grabbed duplicate copies of books from the shelves, baby-talk wearing on me. When I wasn't feeling vulnerable, emotional, it was easy to distance myself from my rapidly developing offspring, and I was fine with that. I still wasn't one hundred percent sure I wanted to be a mother yet, but I also knew the alternative would be too much for me to go through, and I felt like I would regret it if I did. So I decided that until I came around, until I got swept up in "baby fever," I would refer to my daughter as _it_.

I filled my arms to the brim with books, and the box slipped away from me and thudded to the floor. I smiled gratefully down at Alyce as she bent to retrieve it. "Why are we shipping these out anyway? It must be cheaper to go through the distributors than us."

Alyce smiled as she held the box up for me. "It's about helping small businesses—we have to stick together."

"O-kaaay," I murmured, and then got down from the stool. "Speaking of small businesses," I kicked the stool into an empty corner and took the box from Alyce to take into the back room. "Has my mom mentioned her plans for this place?" I called over my shoulder.

Alyce followed. "She has." She replied sadly. "If I had the money, I would snatch it right up."

I set the box on the table and grabbed the packing tape and a blank shipping label from the supply cupboard. "Me too," I replied, wrapping the books in packing paper. "I don't want to leave, and I don't want her to sell Practical Magick, but she thinks starting over somewhere new would be best for all of us."

After wrapping up the books, I closed the flaps and taped them together, then slid the box and packing label over to Alyce. Her handwriting was far more legible than mine could ever hope to be.

"I did ask her if she would let me stay here, let me keep working here and keep the place going, but she said no." I sat down in a battered chair and rested my forearms on the table. "I'm not eighteen, so I can't legally run a business, and she doesn't really trust me anymore."

When Alyce was finished filling out the label, she moved the box over and sat down across from me, taking my hands in hers. "I believe she trusts you, but I think she's worried about you. She was a young, single mother, and I'm sure she doesn't want you to have to go through that, too."

I nodded. "She wants to move away to make it harder for my dad to find me," I said simply, having not told anyone that yet. "She has friends in Washington and Northern California, outside of big cities, that will let us stay with them until we can start up again." I moved my hands away from hers and crossed my arms over my chest, shivering as a blast of cool air crept up on me. "But I don't want to run away. She ran away before, and he still managed to find her."

All Alyce could do was pat my arm tenderly, as if to say everything will be alright in the end. I closed my eyes and suppressed the groan that was threatening to come out. As much as I loved my mother—and I truly loved her more than anything—I could no longer trust her decisions when it came to _my_ well-being. After what had happened to her back in Ireland, the horror of seeing her entire family and home burned down to nothing, I knew a part of me was being selfish. I was all she had, after all.

But I wasn't a runner. Maeve isn't weak in the least—it was impossible to raise me and be weak—but her fear of my father was almost as strong as her love for him. She didn't want to face him when she knew all too well what he was capable of. I, on the other hand, had nothing but hatred for the man and I would die fighting him if I had to.

So while my mother felt it was safer to keep moving, I felt it was necessary to be done with him once and for all, even if it killed me.

I was strong for a witch, much stronger than even my father, but he has decades of practice on me—most of it with dark magick. Since before my initiation, I had vowed to work only on the side of light, even when tempted by the darkness.

I had almost given into it once. I had been thirteen, about five months out from my initiation, and I had been spending the summer with Ciaran and my half-siblings in Ireland. It was a truly magickal time; the night had been our celebration of Lughnasadh, so all of us children were buzzing with summer warmth and magick, Iona and I even getting along for once. The morning after, at dawn, Ciaran had taken us into an unusual forest. The trees were pine, big and tall, and had led to moss growing all over the bog and rocks. Within the forest were huge boulders, each site set in circular patterns, that had been placed there thousands of years before St. Patrick had brought Christianity to Ireland.

They were burial sites, Ciaran explained, and he used one that had been relatively unmarred by time as our altar. He had us come up and join him, and I had tripped on the slight slope, my boot getting caught in the squelchy ground. My fall had been painless except for a twig snapping under my forearm. The ground had cushioned my weight with ease, and my mind remembered that _bog_ actually meant _soft_.

Iona laughed meanly, our unspoken truce over with that sound. I had brushed myself off and joined them, standing between Ciaran and Killian. Killian rolled his eyes dramatically in the direction of his full-blooded sister and nudged me with a grin. Her nostrils flared; _once again her little brother sided with the bastard._

Ciaran waited patiently for us to pay attention, though the fire in his eyes radiated annoyance. Killian plucked a pine needle from my long hair and dropped it in front of my face, and I tried to suppress a laugh. Ciaran's eyes stayed fixed on us, and Iona and Kyle looked smug, as if they could do no wrong and were _Father's_ favorites.

It had never been a secret that if Ciaran cared for any of his children, it was me and Killian. We were the ones with power, the ones most like him in actions and appearance. We were strong; Iona was desperate and Kyle was indifferent.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and cast my eyes down to my feet that had sunken into the ground by at least an inch.

As Ciaran started his spell, his smooth melodic voice saying the Irish words with ease, I felt a sharp pang of guilt and embarrassment. My mother was an Irish witch, often spoke in Gaelic around the house, muttering to herself. Unless she was speaking to me directly or a coven mate, she was using her first language. I myself was fluent in English. Just English. There were words I could pick up on, necessary spells I knew for helping the garden along or blessing the house, but I was far from fluent. I mean, I could only count to nineteen—naoi déag—because I could never remember how the twenties started.

So when my father's eyes locked on mine, and I felt the words of his spell envelope me like tentacles, I was as amazed as I was terrified by the words slipping out, matching his. As I spoke with him, I followed his gaze up to the tops of the trees, our chant swaying the branches and making them crack with sickening sharpness. I remember gasping, the words cutting off abruptly as the trees bent unnaturally back to reveal a clearing down upon us.

I was trapped in a daze, in disbelief of what we had done yet wanting more than anything to keep going, to clear the entire forest. I had never felt so alive, so like the type of witch my ancestors would be proud of. Ciaran bent down and whispered the next part in my ear, and I repeated them without knowing their intent. Within seconds the pink summer sky turned gray, clouds rolling over, thunder cracking overhead. Hail dropped down through the clearing, smacking onto the rocks, all over us. Iona screamed in complaint, a big chunk hitting her eye, and Ciaran laughed in proud astonishment.

As I tore my eyes from the sky, the spell slipping away from me, I felt the icy drops of hail and rain hit me as solidly as if the boulder levitated and smacked me down into the bog. It left me with the realization of what I had done: weather magick. Dark magick.

And I had loved every second of it.

* * *

My eyes glanced up as the bells over the door jingled, and I shivered immediately as the air hit my body.

"Hey, you." I said, smiling softly as Hunter came over to the counter.

He kissed me quickly and I flinched as the snowflakes in his hair drifted onto my face. I laughed and he wiped them off my cheek gently.

"Do you have plans for this evening?"

"This evening?" I asked, biting my lip. "Why, no sir, I don't believe I do." I grabbed the stool at the other end of the counter and slid it over to sit on. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Well," he cleared his throat. "It seems as though Cal's coven that he left behind needs a new leader, so Sky and I have invited them all to a circle with Kithic. Would you like to come?"

My eyes widened. "Left behind?"

Hunter glanced around to make sure the Saturday afternoon customers were out of earshot. "Cal and Selene have vanished, as has any trace of Ciaran."

I sat back, my breath escaping me. _They could be anywhere_. "When?"

Hunter shrugged. "A council member stopped by earlier this week, Tuesday, I think. The house was locked up, empty. Their cars were gone. I went by the high school to ask the Cirrus members if they knew anything, and all of them were really confused."

"So you asked if they wanted to join another coven?"

"More or less—tonight's a trial run." He said with a grin. "Thought you'd like to see the train wreck firsthand."

I grinned back. "Well, you know if I'm there it's _destined_ to be a disaster."

"Exactly," he agreed. "When are you off? It's at my place. I can drive, if you want."

I turned my wrist to look at my watch. "Half hour." I looked back up at him. "Maybe just hang out for a bit? You can follow me home and I'll get ready real quick."

Hunter pushed back from the counter and made a show of slowly wandering through the aisles. I rolled my eyes when he could see me and went back to work when a customer came up to check out.

When I clocked out, Hunter followed me home in his recently acquired car. A green Honda, well-used, slightly battered. I once again hated my Mercedes—it was too showy, too… not me. I liked simple, useful. I didn't need to drive in style; I needed to get from point A to point B.

As I arrived home, Hunter waited in his car to keep the heat going, and I hurried upstairs to change.

"Where are you off to?" Mom asked as I threw on a flowy, cream-colored sweater. I kicked off my flats and sat on my bed to slide on my boots, lacing them as fast as I could.

"Hunter's—he and his cousin are having a circle and invited me to join."

She nodded to herself, her nails tapping on the doorframe. "So I can assume you won't be attending our circle tonight."

I shook my head. "I thought you wanted me to be with people my own age." I challenged.

Maeve groaned. "Is this how it's going to be from now on, Morgan?"

I finished up my boots and stood up, grabbing my coat. "I don't know what you mean, Mom."

"I want you to be able to talk to me—I want normal Morgan, not short answer Morgan."

Frustrated, I threw my coat back down. "I don't know how to talk to you anymore!" I shouted, pulling my hair out of my sweater. "Is that what you want me to say? I can't look at you without feeling like a disappointment, and all you want to talk about is ripping me away from my home. You can't have 'normal Morgan' back—I'm not _her_ anymore. If you can't accept that, then _you_ can leave, but I'm not going anywhere."

Unexpectedly, wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around me. I stood still, unable to react. One hand stroked my hair and the other stayed tight around my waist. "You are not a disappointment." She murmured. "I only made plans to leave because I want you to be safe—I don't feel like we're protected here anymore."

"I'm not running away, and I won't let you sell the shop." I said firmly. "Let Alyce take over. I'll move into one of the apartments upstairs, and you can sell the house."

Maeve pulled back, startled. "What?"

I stepped away from her grasp and grabbed my coat again. "Ciaran will never believe you left me here alone." I told her, knowing it was true. "One of the apartments is opening up next month—I can live there and continue to work. You can sell the house and make it look like we left. I'm serious, Mom. I'm not leaving."

With her face set and eyes deadly cold, she said, "You are still a child. You will come with me whether you like it or not."

"We'll see about that."

I pushed passed her and left, shaking off my anger before joining Hunter.

* * *

When we arrived at his house, my stomach tightened. The people in there I've met either hated me or feared me, and I was beginning to regret coming.

But the alternative was continuing the Battle of My Independence at home, so I stayed.

"Nervous?" he asked as he opened my door for me.

"Umm," I murmured, and he took my hand in his, lacing our fingers together.

"I promise you're the scariest thing in there."

I snorted and leaned against the now closed passenger door of his car. "Gee, thanks."

Hunter bent down and kissed me. At first it was soft, tender, but my desire for him won out, and I pressed against him, one hand wrapping around his neck. Hunter's arm pushed at the small of my back, making me arch further into his warmth.

The sound of a car door at the end of the driveway cut us off, and we grinned at each other in the dark as a pair of bickering teenagers wandered up to the house, completely oblivious of us.

"Shall we go in, then?"

I nodded. "After you."

I followed him up the walk and the rickety porch steps to the partially opened front door. He gestured for me to go in, and I did—with my back turned so my eyes stayed on him. He shut the door behind us and placed his hands on my shoulders to turn me, forcing me to face the group.

To my relief, no one even noticed us, eleven faces caught up in their own conversations.

Sky was the first to notice, and she had been talking to Bree. I braced myself as they both came over, Bree smiling awkwardly and Sky looking impassive.

"Hello, Morgan." Sky said as warmly as I felt she was capable. "Glad you could join us tonight."

"I'm glad I could, too." I replied, trying not to get trapped in her severe black eyes. I wondered fleetingly if Hunter had mentioned _it_.

Bree smiled warmly at Hunter. "Can I steal Morgan for a minute before we start?" she asked, glancing between him and Sky.

"Of course," he said, nudging me to follow her.

I braced myself, forcing a smile, and joined her in the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of warm cider and handed me an empty cup.

"Thanks," I said, opting for tea.

"How are you? Every time I've been in Practical Magick, you've been out."

I nodded. "A lot's happened this past month." I said vaguely. "I'm sure you know Cal and I are done."

"Yes," she said knowingly, raising her eyebrows as if asking for the details. "And I've heard a bit here and there about you and Hunter."

I nodded again, taking a long sip of hot tea. "We've known each other for a while, and things just kind of happened. Cal found out and took off—I really don't know more than that."

That wasn't a total lie. Until today I hadn't even known Cal left.

"What about you?"

Bree shrugged. "Raven and I have been studying a lot with Sky, and I've been meeting with Alyce once a week to work on tarot—I think I actually have a knack for it."

"Really?" I asked, surprised that Alyce hadn't told me. "That's great!" I sincerely meant it. Since I had met Bree, I had felt a connection to her—even when I had been screwing up, she had seemed like she could be a good friend, someone I could confide in. "I've never been great with tarot, but if you ever want to try scrying, I'm a pretty good teacher."

She nodded, seeming delighted by the idea. "I'd like that."

"Cool," I said, taking another sip of tea. "So, hey, are you guys okay with me being here?"

"Oh, yeah." She said, caught off guard. "Raven not so much, but everyone else is good." She set her cup down on the counter and lowered her voice. "Tonight's going to be a challenge for all of us—really awkward, I bet. So if it seems tense or uncomfortable, it probably will have nothing to do with you."

"Okay." I said, feeling mildly reassured.

Bree nodded to the living room where everyone was still gathered. "There's some bad blood between a few members—Jenna's boyfriend Matt cheated on her with Raven, so I can't imagine Jenna will be completely cool with being in a coven with either of them." She looked quickly at the entrance to the kitchen. "And everyone in Cirrus has issues being led by someone new when they were all used to Cal."

I let out a breath. "I'm sure they do." I agreed, feeling guilty for being the reason for Cal's disappearance.

"But Sky is great—she really cares about all of us and wants us to learn as much about Wicca as possible, not just what she _wants_ us to know."

"Well, I've been in a coven with adults my entire life, so I'm excited to see how she does it."

A boy I remembered meeting at the Cirrus circles—Robbie, I remembered—came in. "Hey, we're about to start."

We left our cups in the sink and followed him into the room everyone had migrated to.

"First off, thank you all for coming tonight." Hunter announced while we got situated in the open circle. I stood between Bree and Robbie, and Sky finished closing the circle with chalk, then went around with salt. "I know this isn't the easiest transition, but Sky and I are glad you all are giving it a try."

Sky joined him, standing between him and Raven, who cast a cold look in my direction.

"We have decided that it would be beneficial to us all to join together as one coven, Kithic, as a fresh start. If there are any objections, of course we would like to hear them, but we hope that you'll give it a try first."

A couple of kids I couldn't remember meeting seemed apprehensive, but neither said anything. Most I had met from when Cirrus first started, and Thalia the Shoplifter I had met when she had come into Practical Magick with Raven and Bree. Shaking off my annoyance of seeing the two of them, we started the circle.

It wasn't a full ritual like I was used to. This was like a practice run, a warm-up. Sky led breathing exercises, and when we were finished, we sat down in the circle. Sky had each of us tell the group one of our greatest fears, and I flicked a glance to Hunter, hoping he would give me a way out.

His face was forcibly relaxed, not liking this subject either. I wondered if Sky had even discussed this with him.

Bree, next to me, said, "I'm afraid I'll never be able to have what I really want."

Then it was my turn, and I felt twelve pairs of eyes on me, like a spotlight was staring me in the face and I couldn't run from it.

I cleared my throat, the words on the tip of my tongue begging to be let out despite my hesitation. "I'm afraid…" I swallowed hard and looked directly into Hunter's gaze. "I'm afraid of my full potential."

There were only two people who didn't seem confused by my answer, and they remained quiet, taking in my answer without judgment.

Hunter was last, and he seemed just as unwilling to share as I had been. In a surprisingly clear voice, he said, "I'm afraid of losing any more people I love."

* * *

After the circle, we broke off into little groups, feasting on sweets and talking about plans for the holidays. I was in the kitchen with Bree, Sharon, and Jenna, downing my third cup of tea.

"So you don't celebrate Christmas, right?" Sharon asked me around a mouthful of brownie.

I swallowed my own bite and shook my head. "Not officially, but my mom and I do presents on the twenty-fifth and watch Christmas movies all day and have dinner. Sometimes a full traditional meal, sometimes Chinese since that's the only thing open and we don't feel like cooking."

They laughed. "So no family comes into town?" Jenna asked.

"I don't really have extended family on my mom's side, and my dad lives in Scotland." _With his other family_ , I amended silently. They were just starting to like me, I thought. Better not fill them in on how messed up I really was.

"You're so lucky," Sharon whined. "We're constantly going to see family for holidays—sometimes even stepfamily, and I don't see the point in that. And if we don't, if we have it at our house, my dad gets hit up for money and the relatives leave a mess when they leave."

I shrugged. "Both my parents are only children, so I don't have any aunts or uncles or cousins."

"Lucky," Sharon and Jenna said together.

I giggled and reached for another chunk of brownie from my plate. I flicked a glance at my watch; 11:49. Mom's coven would be winding down about now, and she would probably be home within the hour.

About ten minutes later, people started filtering home, Bree and I talking until Robbie chimed in and pointed out the time. She followed him out, giving me a quick goodbye hug.

I wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Hunter was lighting a fire in the fireplace. I crouched down next to him and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"No," I murmured, kissing his neck. "Did everyone leave?"

Hunter nodded, throwing a third log onto the lit kindling. "Sky went out with Raven, so it's just us."

"Perfect." I said wistfully, feeling so utterly content with him in the dim room, lit only by the now roaring fire.

"So do you approve of us?"

"I do," I said, shifting so my back was to the fire and I could see him better. "I had a really great time tonight—it felt almost normal."

He leaned over and kissed me. "I'm glad," he whispered when our lips parted. "It's late. Just stay the night."

My eyes met his, and I nodded. "Okay."

"Are you tired?" he asked casually.

"Not at all."

"Good." And then his lips were on mine, and I was lying on the hard floor, his weight pressed against me, and all coherent thoughts fled.


	20. Chapter 20

**I have about 5-6 more chapters to go! I will not be posting again until at least next week, but the ideas are storming around in my head right now to get these last few chapters cranked out. If you haven't read chapter 19 (possible confusion as I had posted an announcement in the 19 spot, then replaced it with the actual chapter) go ahead and read that before this - there is quite a large time jump between chapters 19 and 20.**

 **As always, r** **eviews would be super lovely!**

* * *

"Are we ever going to discuss names?"

Smiling up at the ceiling, I traced a finger over my obvious belly and said, "I've always liked Moira."

"Moira Riordan?"

A startled laugh escaped me. "No!" I giggled again at the idea. "No, no, and no—the Riordan name will end with me." I turned on my side to face him, resting my head on my palm, my elbow supporting my arm on the bed. "You'd really subject your daughter to being a _Riordan_? To live up to impossible standards?"

Hunter snorted. "Yes, well, the Niall name isn't without faults."

"I'm sure it's not," I agreed solemnly, and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "But at least they aren't notorious."

"Says who?" he challenged.

"Says I," I retorted. "I, of Riordan _and_ MacEwan blood. I, whose family both created the dark wave, and was destroyed by it. That's not really a legacy I want to pass on, Hunter." I moved my head a few inches to rest on his chest, covered only by the thin material of his t-shirt. "If she grows up normal, with two parents, no half-siblings floating around, no idea of who her grandfather was…I'll be happy. I'll have done my job as her mother."

Hunter's strong hand pushed my hair back gently from my face. "I hope that happens for her, I really do."

"But?"

He groaned and kissed me for just a second. "You and I both know you can't run from your fate. You can control how you get there, the decisions you make are your own, but if you hide things, if you ignore them and hope they go away, they'll just hit harder when they reach the surface."

My eyes slid away from his, annoyance washing over me. "I never took you as the _everything-happens-for-a-reason_ type."

"I'm not," he argued calmly. "But I'd be an idiot to stand in the Goddess's way, to ignore the signs she's showing me."

"What signs?" I asked, looking at the peeling paint of the window frame instead of his face.

Hunter's hand reached for mine, and tension stiffened my fingers, unwilling to bend in his. "Morgan." His voice was still calm, but had an edge to it that made me look up at him. "We both know this happened for a reason. How we met and had this…connection. Meeting again, thousands of miles away," he sighed, collecting his thoughts. "I never believed in all this _m_ _ù_ _irn beatha d_ _à_ _n_ stuff, but—"

"Don't." I warned, my voice hard.

"Listen," he replied in the same tone, and my face set like stone with anger. "I never believed in it because I've only seen it cause destruction, pain. My parents—hell, _your_ parents—but…I _know_ that you're mine."

I watched him, my pulse pounding loud in my ears. I felt very faint, extraordinarily overwhelmed, and I just wanted him to stop, to slow down. I needed to catch my breath. My watery eyes pleaded with him to quit talking, _begging_ him not to say something I couldn't reciprocate.

"I love—"

"Please stop," I choked out, sobs erupting from what felt like the pit of my stomach.

Hunter's hands gripped my face firmly. "Why can't I say what I feel?"

My voice was thick with tears, barely audible to my own ears. "Because I can't say it back."

He let me go, his expression pained by my rejection. "So I'm supposed to wait for you to grow up and figure out how you feel?"

"No," I tried to say, but it came out as a pained wail. "You know how I feel—you know I feel the same way—"

"Then why can't you say it?" he demanded. "I know it's hard for you, but I need you to tell me, Morgan."

I looked away then, feeling vulnerable and completely ashamed. Here was the one person, the _one person_ who was able to change my mind about loving someone, and he was pouring his heart out to me, and I…I was being a total bitch.

He calmed down then, reining in his emotions with effort. "It's not enough for me to love you, Morgan. It's not enough for me to want you. I need to be wanted, too." His hand grabbed my chin softly, turning me to face him. "Do you know what I mean?"

Feeling like an utter waste, I nodded, but it was apparent he wanted me to say more—and it was apparent that I had nothing to say.

Hunter let me go, his hand dropping down to his side. "Right, then." He said, businesslike. "I have a meeting at three. I should get going."

Once he left, the door slamming behind him, I fell back onto our bed, my head turning to face his side. The clock on the nightstand read 9:48.

* * *

"This is so cute," Bree commented after the "grand" tour of my apartment.

"Thanks," I said with a smile.

Hunter and I had moved into an apartment upstairs from the shop, a large two-bedroom one that overlooked the woods that were currently bright green with early summer leaves. Six months ago my mom and I had had a devastating fight, neither of us backing down from what each of us felt was right. Instead of leaving like Mom wanted, she stayed, much to her dismay.

But I had felt too uneasy living with her, and she had felt the same. The thought of not having my mom right here, not having her support, was horrible. There were times at night when I wanted so badly to just go home and lay in bed with her like when I was little. She would comfort me, reassure me that I was good and that the Goddess was watching out for me; promising that tomorrow was a new day, filled with new adventures, new experiences, and that I had to be brave if I wanted to enjoy it.

The older I got, the less our talks resulted in bravery. I was getting to be _too_ brave for her liking.

After our fight, it had been unbearably tense at home, and I went out with Hunter or Bree as much as I could to get away from it. In March, when I was really beginning to show, we quit speaking altogether, communicating only through notes on the kitchen counter, or through Alyce at work.

The last conversation we had in person was last month, when I told her I was moving out. She'd had nothing to say to that except a bitter "good luck," and she hadn't stopped me from leaving.

"Are you going to paint the nursery?" Bree asked, her fingers playing with the fabric of the plushy, white baby blanket I couldn't resist buying.

I nodded, looking at the empty walls of the baby's room. "I'm thinking like a really light lavender—really brighten it up in here." As they were now, the walls were dark brown like espresso, almost matching the hardwood floors. The window frame, unlike my room, had been left unpainted, and was an odd, pale shade of wood by comparison.

Bree and I left the nursery and went out to the living room, sitting on unmatched furniture that I had managed to find at various estate and garage sales. Mine and Hunter's savings combined had been virtually depleted in filling this place. My mom had refused to let me take any of my furniture from home—futile attempt on her part to keep me there—so I had had to get a new bed, new mattress, new…everything.

Once settled, Bree asked, "How has it been, living on your own?"

I grinned. "Amazing," I said. "I mean, I don't particularly like going to a laundromat, especially when I have to fold my clothes—my underwear—in front of strangers," she laughed. "But it's really pretty great not having to check in with my mom about where I am or what I'm doing. I tell Hunter if I'm going somewhere, but it doesn't feel like I _have_ to answer to him."

She snorted. "My dad wouldn't even notice if I moved out."

"Oh please, he would eventually." I teased. "Is he still off in la-la land with Miss Connecticut?"

"Completely." She said, disgusted. "I'm surprised he hasn't moved her in to the house in Widow's Vale. She seems like the type to want the white picket fence in the country."

I rolled my eyes. "I've been to your _mansion_ —it's not a house in the country."

"Yeah, well," Bree said offhandedly. After a moment she surprised me when she looked at me squarely, no-nonsense, and asked, "Are you ever scared?"

I opened my mouth to say "no," but no sound came out. _Of course_ I was scared—I was absolutely terrified. I was seventeen with a GED and a minimum wage job having a baby with no parental support. I would be stupid _not_ to be scared. I was scared of giving birth, of being alone all day with a newborn. I was scared of not having the one person I could always count on.

But I wasn't scared of being a mother. I had grown up with the best under the circumstances, and if she had been able to do it, then so could I.

So I said, "A little. It's more of the financial piece than the actual parenting, but it's going to be fine."

"You're worried about _money_?" she asked, flabbergasted. "My God, that's the easy part! If you're low on cash, sell your car. You live upstairs from your job, so what do you need it for? Pick up more shifts. Convince your mom to give you a raise because, honestly, you get paid shit for all the work you do in that shop. Even as great as Alyce is, that place would be a mess without you."

I laughed, agreeing with her. "You're right."

"In fact, you should just go up to your mom and demand a raise anyway."

"Oh sure, yeah," I rolled my eyes. "'Hey Mom, I know we haven't talked in months, but I need money, even though I basically told you to fuck off and stay out of my life.' Yeah, that'll go over really well, Bree. Great advice." I needled her.

She held up her hands in surrender. "So I guess I'm not one to talk—I haven't seen my mom since I was twelve." She cocked her head to the side. "And if I did see her again, I would probably tell her to fuck off and stay out of my life." She laughed and ran a hand through her chic dark hair. "But you always had a good relationship with your mom, right?"

"Yeah." I said.

"So go talk to her. Bring a white flag, wave it around and say you're sorry and that you need her." She bit her lip and leaned forward, debating whether or not to say more. "Your pride isn't going to help your situation."

After a moment I nodded, knowing she was right. "I think it was necessary at the time to say what I said. I needed her to know that I was serious about my decision."

"Well, I guess you have to go ask for forgiveness now."

"I don't really _want_ to," I muttered ungraciously.

She scoffed. "Who does?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just…be a grown-up. Make her believe you've seen the error of your ways, even if you really believe you were in the right."

Shaking my head, I said, "You know, if we had met a long time ago, you could've gotten me out of a lot of trouble."

Bree giggled. "I'm sure if we had met a long time ago, you would've gotten me _into_ trouble—your witchy ways would've rubbed off on me when I was at my most impressionable."

"Oh whatever, you got into Wicca because of a _guy_ —that wouldn't have changed either way."

She thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, probably."

* * *

Standing outside the front door of my former house, I debated with myself on whether to knock or just use my key, but the decision was made for me when my mom opened the door.

"Hi." I said stiffly.

"Hi," she replied, her eyes roaming over my changed body. I could see the sadness in her eyes when she looked at my face again. "Come in."

I went in after her, shutting the door behind me. Dagda greeted me from his perch on the back of the couch, stretching with a yawn that showed off his sharp kitty fangs. I went over to stroke his bat-like ears and kissed the top of his head. In my need to get settled in at the new place, I had had to leave him here, and I'd been surprised when my mom agreed.

I followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Mom filled up the teapot and placed it on the stove to heat up. After a moment, realizing she could no longer stall, she came and sat across from me.

"How are you feeling?"

I knew she asked this instead of "how are you?" because that would lead into the inevitable discussion of my exodus from this house.

"Okay, for the most part. I haven't had any bouts of sickness or nausea or anything, but I'm tired a lot. Sore. Sometimes I feel really weak, like I'm not getting enough oxygen and I'm going to pass out, but I never do."

"How long have you been feeling this way?"

I shrugged. "A few weeks, I guess."

"Are you taking any vitamins? Pre-natal vitamins, iron supplements, anything?"

I stared at her blankly. "No."

Nonplussed, she said, "Your midwife hasn't recommended anything?"

"Midwife? No, I don't have a midwife, I don't have a doctor. Mom, I don't—I don't have anyone." I choked on the last word and felt the telltale prickle of tears. I coughed to clear my throat and blinked back the moisture in my eyes.

For long moments we just stared at each other, not knowing what to say. A hiss broke our stare-down, and she got up to take the pot off the stove, then filled two mugs with hot water and a bag of tea in each. She added sugar and lemon to mine, then brought the mugs over to the table, setting mine down in front of me.

I circled my hand absently over my tea, cooling it without effort. She did the same, our eyes locking again in unspoken challenge, lush green into dark hazel.

"I understand you're trying to be an adult, and I commend you for it." she said, taking a sip. "But here's what's going to happen: I'm going to set you up with a midwife, you need to get checked out, and then you're moving back home."

I took a sip of my own tea and set it back down on the table so I could cross my arms over my chest. "I'll see a midwife, I'll get checked out, but I'm not moving."

"How can you afford rent on your salary?" she asked. "I know what you make, Morgan, and it's barely enough to pay the utility bills every month."

"Hunter works, too, and it wouldn't kill you to pay me more. I do a lot for that store." I said defiantly. "And I can sell my car if I have to."

"Not until you're eighteen—I'm on the title." She countered. "The way I see it is I've spoiled you. Your father has spoiled you. You've been living a pretty luxurious life—way more than what I had, Morgan. And you appreciate _none_ of it. You expect things to be handed to you."

I sat back, appalled. "I don't _expect_ anything from either of you." I said, feeling shockingly hurt by her accusations. "If I'm spoiled, it's because of _you_ —I wasn't born with a list of expectations, Mom." I took in a ragged breath, wondering why I even came here in the first place. "I thought I needed you, but not like this."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that I don't need you. I have Hunter, and he—God, he _loves_ me, and I'm an idiot, and I _hurt_ him." Breaking down into embarrassing tears, I covered my face with my hands and cried into them, completely exhausted by today's events.

He _loved_ me, and I had _refused_ him.

What was _wrong_ with me?

"You guys have ruined me." I managed to say between sobs. When I looked up, Maeve seemed so shaken, so hurt, that it almost made her look like the mom I knew…but she wasn't anymore. The second I had gotten pregnant, our dynamic had shifted irreversibly.

I wasn't her baby anymore that she had to protect from harm. I was a woman about to become a mother, and that terrified her more than anything.

"I may not need you in the same way," I said slowly. "But I still need you. I still need my mom. I'm trying so hard to keep it together, but I always mess everything up. Please, I…I need you to not give up on me yet."

She didn't say anything, just sipped her tea until it was gone. Mine had gone completely cold; my face was sticky with dried tears. Outside the kitchen window I saw storm clouds run in and heard thunder in the distance.

It was late June, so the heat was the perfect element for a wicked summer storm. Tree branches would be tossed around no doubt, smacking against houses, hitting cars. Lightning would light up the sky in brilliant shades of white and blue and purple. Hail would fall, the sound echoing as it bounced. We had a tin roof over our patio, and I always loved the sound of hail or hard rain dropping onto it, creating its own chaotic music.

A flash of lightning, so close, made me jump. The following thunder was almost instantaneous as it ripped through the sky, shaking me to my very core. It reminded me of my near-descent into darkness four years ago: the storm I had created, had loved with every fiber of my being. I had felt so unstoppable, and I had wanted to bottle it up, hold that magick inside of me forever.

I had never told my mom about it.

"You're not wrong."

I looked away from the window and saw her face was flushed and wet from crying. "What?"

"I tell you that I want you to be an adult, and when you do, I…panic." She sniffled. "You are more than capable of handling anything that comes your way, Morgan, you are. I'm just always so scared that I'm going to lose you."

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. "You're never going to lose me." I swore. "But at some point you'll have to let me go. I'm two miles away. You can come over whenever you want." Cautiously, I reached my hand out to hers, and she grabbed it firmly, unwilling to let it go. "I'm never going to stop needing you."

Nodding, as if accepting this, she wiped her nose with her free hand and sniffled again. "We really should work on our codependence."

"Yeah, it's probably not healthy." I agreed.

She laughed, the sound of it thick with exhausted emotion. "Come here," she said, and we stood and hugged for the first time in months. I gripped her tightly, feeling a desperate need to keep her with me in a way I hadn't felt in years.


	21. Chapter 21

**Just a few more chapters to go...**

* * *

 _Fire, my element, was calling to me, beckoning me with its seductive warmth and promise of powerful magick. As I made my way through the dense woods, twigs snapping underfoot, the sound of flames engulfing the air around it, I pictured what awaited me._

 _I wasn't shy when it came to fire. A ritual celebrating fire was what fed my soul and produced the rush I craved. Paying no mind to my coven mates, I would gleefully dance around the fire, heating my skin, feeding the desire to become a part of the flames themselves. I would let free whatever chant came to mind, knowing that the words were wholly ancient and that I was merely a vessel for them, the messenger. I wasn't myself around fire; I was thousands of years of witches acting together, rejoicing in the mesmerizing beauty before us._

 _The anticipation quickened my pace. I was desperate. I needed the flames like I needed air to breathe, and they were so close. I paused only for a moment, casting my senses to feel out where the fire was and who had conjured it. I was feeling if it was safe, if it was a joyous celebration or meant for me alone._

 _My concern was overshadowed as I finally heard the crackling of wood, saw the orange sparks dance in the night sky as they escaped the flames and winked out into nothingness. I turned slightly left, deciding to go through a clearing twenty feet away that would lead me to the center of the fire._

 _My heart was pounding as I made my way. My feet and legs were scratched up but I felt no pain, and the short hem of my white dress had been caught by several sharp twigs, fraying the fabric. My long, dark hair felt tangled, gnarled in the back as if I had gone to sleep with it wet. But as soon as my feet hit the soft grass of the clearing, none of that mattered anymore._

 _I smiled in sweet relief as the fire came into full view, but within seconds I realized the grave mistake I had made._

 _Witches, at least a dozen or so, dressed head to toe in black and each wearing a different yet distinctive animal mask were crowded around the fire, chanting, their words too dark and ancient for me to decipher. Ciaran, the leader, locked eyes on mine and grinned as if he had a secret I wasn't meant to know._

 _I stood frozen, taking in the scene before me. A little girl dressed in black appeared before me, greenish hazel eyes full of hatred staring into mine in accusation. She left me and turned to the flames, the witches parting to give her direct access. Ciaran joined her, and the two of them smiled at each other happily, both getting what they wanted._

 _I screamed, "No!" before my mind could catch up. My daughter, my baby, had joined them—Amyranth. She proudly circled the flames with her grandfather, laughing with childlike wonder as the flames roared up and took hold of its gift: Maeve._

I awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in bed and drenched in sweat. My eyes darted around frantically, desperately. Every cell in my body was awake, alert, as if preparing for battle. I brushed my hand across my forehead and shoved the covers off of me, kicking as hard as I could to break my legs free of their grip. Shakily I drew myself up to rest my back against the headboard and looked up, staring hard up at the ceiling of my bedroom. I breathed deeply again and again.

I was trying to convince myself that I was safe, but despite the relief I felt seeing cracked beige plaster instead of a fire-lit indigo sky, my heart was still pounding, my breathing a steady, heavy pant. The air outside my open window was still, almost lifeless. It was early September, and the heat of summer was still going strong. The only relief usually came at nighttime, but tonight had yielded me no such luck. There was a faint brightness on the horizon; dawn was approaching.

I licked my lips and closed my eyes, shaking my head. I was dead-tired, exhausted, worn out to the absolute extreme. As sleep evaded me, my eyes burning with the horror I had witnessed in my vision, I slid out of bed and left my bedroom.

Tonight hadn't been my first vivid nightmare, but it was the first I'd had in months. Each left me feeling hollow, almost sick. As I slowly moved down the hall, I dared a glance down at myself. Had I already lost the battle with Ciaran? Was she—my daughter, my beautiful baby with the rosy-gold hair and hazel eyes that had stopped me in my tracks—destined to assume the role of Amyranth's heir?

In the living room, Hunter was restless as he slept on the worn down couch. Guilt hit me as strongly as a bucket of ice water as I stared down at him. Since he'd told me—since he'd _tried_ to tell me that he loved me, and I all but slammed that door in his face, we'd barely spoken a word. It would be more than unfair to ask for forgiveness now, to beg for his comfort and his love and protection from the rest of the world.

But still my legs drew me closer to him, and I sank down as gracefully as I could onto the hard floor in front of the couch. His eyebrows were furrowed, as if concentrating. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but it was easily still at least seventy degrees in the room. Feeling daring, I gently placed my hand over his. Hunter woke with a start much like I had minutes ago, gasping hard, green eyes unfocused as they danced around the dark room.

He grasped my hand tightly in his instantly before even seeing me. When he did see me, he froze. He stared almost painfully strong into my eyes, almost as if analyzing my soul from the inside out. I shifted, our hands still bound together, and rested my free hand on my side.

A minute later he let me go, and I tried not to feel disappointed at the loss of contact. I slid my hand under my thigh, resting between my almost feverish skin and the cool hardwood floor.

Hunter lay down on his side facing me and rubbed his eyes. He looked as beat as I felt. "What are you doing?" he muttered.

I leaned forward, resting my arms on cushion in front of him. "I had a nightmare," I said coolly. It was a big understatement. "I didn't want to be alone anymore."

The words slipped out of my mouth before I had even finished forming them, but they were out, and he had heard them, and I had meant each one. It was true; I _did not_ want to be alone anymore.

Hunter examined my face for a moment, weighing my truth, the underlying implication. His fingers came to rest of my left temple, his thumb stroking the clammy skin. He brushed my hair back behind my ear and drifted down, letting his hand stop at my shoulder.

"I did too," he said softly. "I couldn't make out the details clearly. It was almost as if watching through fog, but I _knew_ it was dark. I knew it was dark magick; the spells, the fire." He laughed without humor then, remembering. "I swear I heard you scream. I couldn't see you through the smoke—or whatever it was—but I _heard_ you."

Trembling, I whispered, "I think we had the same dream." I closed my eyes, the bright flames vivid once again behind my eyelids. Embers dancing in the air, the smell of wood smoke, the bubbly laughter of our daughter as the flames consumed her grandmother's body… it all clung to me, weighed me down, encased me in the concrete prison of my own personal hell.

"I'm scared for us," I choked out.

Hunter sank down from the couch onto the floor and pulled me to him, letting me wrap my arms tightly around his neck and pressing every inch I could against his body. He rubbed my back soothingly, releasing some of the fear and worry I'd been feeling for months. When we were good, he would say comforting things to me when I cried. He would hold me and promise we'd fix whatever was wrong at that moment.

But this was different.

"I'm scared, too." He finally said in a shaky breath, and I felt my world collapse around me.


	22. Chapter 22

**This is a bit short but we're almost to the end!**

* * *

All of my fears, all of my expectations of what would go wrong following the birth were gone the moment I saw her.

This morning, a mere twelve hours ago that felt lightyears away, I had my daughter. I knew it had been painful, but the intensity was so quickly forgotten. Maeve and Hunter had been there, sending me strength when I wanted so badly to give up. I had quit a lot of things, I'd reasoned. I could quit this, too. Take me to a hospital, drug me up, and cut her out because I was _done_. Maeve had had me in a hospital, after all. She'd had an epidural, so why couldn't I? Why was this woman who had created me hell-bent on making me suffer?

But only after she told me of her regrets of fear consuming her at the time, the reasons for having me in a hospital—letting another man believe he was my father, my real father still very much a threat (especially if he'd known about my existence), the thought that someone in that small town would catch onto Maeve being different—had I taken her words seriously. This was what witches did, after all. They had their babies the way the Goddess had intended, not surrounded by doctors unless it were an absolute necessity, a medical emergency. Fortunately, as she'd pointed out, I was fine. The baby was fine. There was no reason at all to even have to consider such a thing.

So I had agreed. I would do this on my own, I would be strong for Moira and go through this to bring her into the world. Maeve had promised I would be grateful for the experience, for being clear-headed and relieved to see her the moment she took her first breath. I would be grateful that I had done this at home, with peace and quiet and surrounded by soothing spells and plants brought in specifically for their strengthening and calming properties.

My midwife, Sloane Fairwind—the lifesaver that she had turned out to be the very second I started to push—was a member of my mother's coven, a healer who had chosen to help women through this daunting yet wholly wonderful, magickal experience. The second my contractions had started, the second the panic and uncertainty set in, she'd arrived with Maeve and tried her best to sooth my worries away. This was natural, she reminded me. My body would know exactly what to do even if I had no clue. But I was stubborn as always, forgetting my promise to do this on my own until the eleventh hour when her head was almost out. I had been crying, begging, pleading with Maeve and Hunter to end it, to take the pain away, to turn back time—anything. I was exhausted, I was _too young_ to be doing this, too young to even consider being a mother. This was the easy part, wasn't it? The hard part would be taking care of her, nurturing her, making sure she has all of her needs met even though I still felt so much like a child myself. I sobbed as I pushed, thinking of how naïve I had been that I could do this, how my false confidence had landed me in this mess.

Sloane had snapped me out of it then, telling me in a no-nonsense tone that I was a mother, and this was my child, and if I were to give up now then I would fail her from the start. It was like a switch had flipped. My whole life of immature antics, acting however I wanted because my mom would fix it—that life was over. This new reality where I was a strong woman, a strong witch, a reciprocal partner and lover, a nurturing and protective mother…it was too good, too wonderful to risk giving up.

So I swallowed hard, nodded at Sloane, and squeezed Hunter's hand as strongly as I could, almost weeping at the strength he was sending me, the words of encouragement he whispered in my ear. She was almost here, I was almost done, I just had to keep going. I couldn't give up this time, for once in my life. There was no going back after this.

I held my breath as we all stared at her in Sloane's hands, writhing, waiting to make a sound. The cry that followed broke me, and my mother and I wept at the sound, water breaking free from a stressed dam. I reached for her, her tiny body still connected to me by her cord, and held her as tightly as I could to my chest. Her piercing cries were my favorite sound now—it was the first indication I had that she was okay, that she was here and good and would be mine forever.

* * *

To say I was tired was an understatement. Cool air streamed in through the open windows when I stepped out of the bathroom following my hot shower. Sloane had recommended I not shower for at least a day (just relax, give my body a break), but as soon as the rose-colored glasses had come off and I felt how gross everything was following the _miracle of life_ , all I wanted was a shower, clean sheets, and my coziest pair of sweatpants.

I entered the bedroom towel-drying my long hair and couldn't help the gushy, goofy smile that formed on my lips at the sight of Hunter holding our daughter, each of them staring so intently into each other's eyes. I hadn't thought that a baby just hours old would be able to have such strong focus, but this was something else. This was a magickal pull between them, bonding them as father and daughter, a silent trust and acknowledgment of their roles from here on out. There was a biological bond between me and Moira from the second she was conceived. She was a part of me, my body changing to accommodate her, cater to her every need. My only experience with fathers was that there was a subtle connection—I knew where I came from, I knew I had some of his traits, but I felt a strong tie to my mother mentally and physically. I had expected Hunter would be a good father to her as he'd had good parents the first eight years of his life. He had had a consistent father until he hadn't. I had never had a consistent father, never felt that feeling of belongingness with him.

But as I watched Hunter and Moira I felt my heart squeeze as I recognized this was exactly what was happening. My eyes started to water as I realized how happy this made me. She was so lucky—an instant bond with both parents, getting a promise that we would always be there for her. I cleared my throat and wiped a stray tear away, smiling as I joined them on the bed.

"I think she's all you," I commented, curling up next to him. "Except for the mouth," I touched her perfectly plump bottom lip with the tip of my finger. "That's me."

"Enjoy your shower, did you?" he asked with a smirk, hinting at the hour-long pamper session.

I yawned and smiled up at him. "So much," I said, resting the side of my face against his shoulder so I could still see her. "Sorry if your arms are tired."

Hunter laughed softly so as not to jostle her. "They're not—I could hold her all day. In fact, I don't know if I'm going to give her back to you." He grinned down at me. "I think she likes me more."

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "Hmm, well, you can feed her and change her and just let me do the fun stuff, if that's the case. That's fair, right?"

Wordlessly he started to pass her to me but I shook my head. "No, she's sleeping." I murmured, watching her closed eyelids flutter, the pale lavender shade looking so new and delicate. "I love this, seeing you with her."

"I know, it's a bizarre feeling—like she's…" he shook his head. "I can't explain it."

"Like she's yours." I said, stroking her cheek, and Hunter nodded. "Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No. You?"

"Nope. Never. People in my mom's coven have had babies over the years and since I've always been the oldest kid in the coven, they assumed I would hold them."

Hunter looked at me curiously. "Why didn't you?"

I looked at him in mock wide-eyed horror. "Babies scare me."

He snorted a laugh, and we both made a quick glance down to make sure she was still asleep. "Babies scare you?" he repeated. "How? Because they can't walk or are missing teeth? Can't talk? What?"

"I've just never wanted to hold a baby—I always felt like I'd drop them or something. Also, I don't know if you know this, but people get really excited about babies. Every time I was ever near a baby I would get super uncomfortable and want to go home because sooner or later they would start to gush about how one day I'll grow up and have babies and be just like them."

"How terrible," he said dryly. "So you never wanted to hold a baby because they made you uncomfortable?"

I shrugged. "Mostly I didn't want the speech about how much I would love being a _mommy_ one day. It made me mad." I bent down and lightly kissed the top of Moira's head. "And as much as I love you," I told her. "I still hate baby talk. You won't be hearing it from me."

"So it's the baby talk?"

I smirked. "Mostly, yes. Those voices should be reserved for a baby animal. I will talk baby talk to my cat, but I will never do it to her."

He just stared at me, humor dancing in his eyes. "You are so strange."

I bit my lip as I grinned. "But you love me." It was meant to sound off-handed, nonchalant, but my words made us both freeze. It had been months since he had said it and only a couple of weeks since we'd made up, each of us putting the "I-love-you" incident behind us for the time being.

But my words just then had slipped out so naturally, so sure. I felt he still loved me. I knew I loved him, as much as that still scared me. And I had told Moira just moments ago that I loved her, and it was so easy for me to say it.

I took a deep breath, glancing between his eyes that were unwavering on my face and my daughter's perfect sleeping form.

"And I love you, too." I told him, but before he could say anything, I turned off the lamp on my nightstand and slid under the covers, letting my exhaustion from the day's events take over and pull me down into a blessed unconsciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Inspiration struck like crazy for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy and that it keeps you in suspense until the end...**

* * *

"She is such a perfect baby." Alyce stated with no room for debate, cradling a sleeping Moira against her shoulder.

"Thank you!" I said, beaming. "I knew I wasn't the only one who thought so."

Two weeks following Moira's arrival I had gone stir-crazy.

Desperate to get out of the apartment, I had offered to help in the shop—working off the clock, of course. Maeve and Alyce wouldn't hear of a new mother going back to work so soon. I had rolled my eyes at their insistence. I lived right upstairs, for crying out loud! I could feel my senses prickle whenever she was in distress, my body being fully attuned to hers in ways I hadn't thought were possible, so it's not like I would be abandoning her for hours on end.

And despite how convincing I thought I sounded, I had lost the battle. I only got two hours in the back room, doing the mundane task of recording the latest shipments of crystals, books, candles, essential oils, and any direct orders for local witches who were too cheap to pay retail price.

"So she's sleeping alright, then?"

I gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Okay for the most part. Not through the night yet, but I wasn't expecting any miracles." I smiled up at Alyce holding her, feeling all the mushy warm-and-fuzzy love I had for her rushing through me yet again. I thought back to my pregnancy when I scoffed at the idea of feeling this way. It had been a much more chaotic time, a time where I couldn't fully appreciate what was happening in my body. I had been so consumed with dread and fear that the closer I got to her due date, the closer I was to my death. From the moment she had been born, though, I hadn't given much thought to Ciaran or Selene. The threat I had built up in my mind seemed so…trivial. Insignificant. There was no guarantee that I would lose her to Amyranth—mine and Hunter's collective dream could have been a result of intense stress, I'd decided. We had both been anxious about her arrival, barely speaking to each other, and had discussed no real plans for our life after she was born.

So as I glanced up at her, saw how safe and relaxed she was in Alyce's arms, I was more sure than ever of my decision to have kept her. Hunter and I were fine, good, way better than I could have hoped for given the circumstance. He hadn't yet returned my declaration of love for him—my guess was he wanted to torture me as I had tortured him, and I'll be the first to admit that I absolutely deserved that—and instead has acted coy, teasingly saying light, passive-aggressive words to our daughter about me when he knew I could hear, so I knew we were on the right track.

"That's perfectly normal," she assured me, swaying slightly. "Oh, look at the time!" I turned around to look at the clock and groaned. "That's two hours."

I pouted, presenting my bottom lip in a pathetic plea, neon-pink highlighter in one hand and the itemized list in the other. "One more hour?"

She was already shaking her head and putting Moira down gently in her car seat. "I refuse to let you get me in trouble with Maeve." She said primly, shuffling my monotonous yet life-affirming work out of my reach. She plucked the highlighter from my right hand and scooted the car seat across the table.

"What's to stop me from browsing the store?" I challenged. "And if something is out of place, then I would just be doing my job as a responsible customer by reorganizing said item into its proper section."

Alyce chuckled. "You are relentless, Morgan." She said, shaking her head.

"Persistent sounds better."

"Go," she urged, pointing to the entrance of the store. "I'll make you a deal," she added after I hesitated standing up. "Get permission from your mother, and I'll have no problem letting you come back full-time."

"Of course you give me the impossible task." I muttered, standing. "Yeah, we'll see how that goes."

* * *

"Mom!" I called, opening the screen door with my free hand. I coughed after immediately stepping inside the house, my stomach turning from the heady scent of burning rosemary, sage, thyme, and juniper. I froze after my eyes adjusted, my hand gripping the handle of the car seat as I stared at the pile of broken tools and shards from a shattered mirror sitting inside a circle on the living room floor. My mother was inside the circle, her back to me, and I saw her rocking, murmuring under her breath.

Quickly I set Moira down and went around the furniture to see my mother's face clearly. A short, fat black pillar candle sat before her, runes of protection and clarity of scrying etched at the base. She was staring into the candle in a daze, the center of her green eyes fiery orange with the reflection of the single flame.

I looked around the house from where I sat, saw the subtle disarray that I hadn't noticed before. Everything seemed slightly out of place, not noticeable to anyone else but me and Maeve. The objects behind her that sat broken and useless had once been powerful, channeling Maeve's powers in her rituals and spells, aiding the coven during sabbats and times when we all needed strength.

To anyone else, she would have looked like a mad woman. Her hair was unwashed and she had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept in days. I could have tried to snap her out of it but it would have been no use. She was too far gone into her vision that I could either wait or try to join in.

I breathed in deeply, bracing myself. The scent of burning herbs alerted me once more. They were herbs for protection, for banishing evil spirits and intentional harm. From where I sat I forced the lock shut on the screen door, the little metal handle falling down, latching into place. The last thing I wanted to think about was getting my baby snatched while deep in meditation. I whispered a short protection spell, a little rhyme in English that Mom and I had made up when I was five and scared of monsters that lurked around at night.

 _All is good, all is right_

 _The only magick I make is white_

 _When it's dark, I'll think of light_

 _So I'll know I'm safe at night_

It was hardly a practical spell, had nothing to do with what I was facing at this very moment as it was noon and sunny outside, but the words felt right just then.

I pulled my hair back and tied it with an elastic, then I settled into meditation, staring solely into the flame, letting my eyes blur out everything else.

 _Show me_ , I urged the flame. _Let me in_.

The flame resisted at first, Maeve's refusal overpowering my insistence. With irritation I forced my way in, breaking the barriers as she built them back up. This was a first—every time, every single time I had ever scried with her, she'd let me in. It had always been a happy vision, seeing Ireland as a child through her eyes, seeing the grandparents that I had never been able to meet, the coven I would have inherited one day. Belwicket was a joyous memory for her, for both of us. She would never show the destruction that Ciaran caused, and I had never pushed her.

Until now.

Summoning all of my strength, my innate power I'd dampened down for so long, I broke through her barriers like the walls were made of tissue paper instead of brick and finally saw the world through Maeve.

 _We were in a rough-walled, small building, almost like a barn. The doors were closed, sealed shut, and the windows were too high up to reach. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, and I stood by, invisible, watching my mother pace around, thinking hard. A man was in here, too. Medium height, blonde hair, average, unremarkable face._ This must be Angus _, I realized._

 _Maeve murmured spells, getting more and more frustrated as they yielded no results. I heard her all-too-familiar power chant, instinctively knowing that sound, those words, and knowing that she was deadly serious with her intent to use them. The chaos outside made me jump, the sounds of footsteps, eerily close yet sounding far away with my muffled hearing._

 _Angus looked frightened, a kitten backed into a corner. "Our child," he pleaded with her, sounding desperate._

" _She's safe," Maeve said quickly. "She will always be safe."_

I gasped softly, a wave of nausea hitting my stomach so hard that I snapped out of the vision. I was breathing hard, sweating, my cheeks hot. Deliberately I forced myself back, staring hard into the center of the flame until it relented and I crossed over the broken down walls of Maeve's consciousness.

 _The acrid stench of smoke was violent now, seeping into every crack in the wood, and I saw bits of straw bordering the inside of the barn begin to catch fire. Angus was a wreck and my mother was angry, furious that this was how it would end, but as the fire spread across the floor of the barn her rage turned to horrified shock and she stood motionless, tears dripping down and leaving tracks on her soot-covered face._

 _She remained still, crying silently as the flames enclosed us in a perfect circle, a last attempt for my mother to give in to him, a last chance to save all of our lives. The pain in her eyes as she cried out for Ciaran was gut-wrenching. It was nearly impossible for me to watch this unfold, to see firsthand the nightmare it had been to have to beg for her life._

 _The flames stopped, doused the second after she spoke his name. His voice, smooth and free of any emotion, came to us from outside as clearly as if he were standing right there._

" _Why should I spare you?" Ciaran asked conversationally. "Give me one good reason why you deserve to live, after you rejected me—again—for him."_

 _She sobbed, falling to her knees like a puppet losing its strings. Covering her mouth with her hand she cried, brokenly, "We have a daughter." She wheezed in a breath of clean air, filling her lungs with it. "The last night we saw each other, Ciaran," she continued, eyes shut tight against the pain. "When I met you that night, we conceived a child. A daughter." She opened her eyes, staring hard at the door of the barn, willing it to open._

 _Angus gasped, tears filling his eyes, and he backed away from her, betrayal evident on his devastated face._

 _Maeve sobbed again, burying her face in her hands. The door opened, giving Ciaran enough time to enter before spelling it shut, ensuring that none could escape without his say so._

" _We have a daughter?" he repeated, his voice cool, disinterested._

 _She nodded. "She looks like you," she whispered, looking away from both Ciaran and Angus in shame. "She has your eyes. Goddess, Ciaran, she's so beautiful. Please," she looked up at him. "Please let me see her again, just once more."_

 _Ciaran narrowed his eyes and glanced between Maeve and Angus, trying to test their honesty. The pain on Angus's face should have been enough of a confirmation for him, but Ciaran wasn't one to let things go. He had to make a game of it, had to amuse himself somehow._

 _He bent down, a sly grin on his handsome, youthful face. Brushing a strand of Maeve's hair behind her ear he said, "Funny, isn't it, that you deny me because of my family, and now your family, your child, came from my line?" he was taunting her, a malicious smile now directed at Angus. "If this child is anything like me, you would have had to wonder one day about how powerful she is. You would have to know you could never produce a child that would amount to anything."_

 _Angus burst into tears as the weight of her affair settled on him. The daughter he thought was his, the only good thing to come out of fleeing Ireland for safety, wasn't his. The daughter named after his mother wasn't his. The daughter wasn't of Belwicket—she was a MacEwan by blood, ancient evil swam through her veins. All their hopes and dreams of raising me to be a good, sweet, bright young witch vanished._

 _I was their nightmare, created in part by a dark seed, my soul tarnished from the moment of conception._

" _Where is she?" Ciaran asked Maeve._

 _Maeve's voice was shaky as she spoke, thick with tears and hoarse. "With a neighbor." She said as if in confession. "The neighbor was instructed to take her away if I didn't make it home tonight. I told her to make sure she would be given to a family who wanted her."_

 _His hand gripped her hair tightly, making her yelp in pain. "You would give our daughter to_ strangers _?" she shouted. "Let her be raised by non-witches? Goddess, what were you thinking?" Ciaran demanded._

" _I wanted to give her a chance," she cried. "I wanted her to have a normal life, free from this pain!"_

 _Ciaran huffed. "That's not up to you to decide."_

 _In a fit of rage, without holding anything back, Ciaran blasted a spell at Angus, knocking him to the ground, lifeless. Maeve screamed after a moment, realizing what she had just seen. As if to drive the knife in further, to make her hurt more, Ciaran set Angus's body on fire, his clothes catching and clinging to his skin._

 _The smell made me gag, the sight of charring flesh burning into my eyes as I watched helplessly._

 _Ciaran stood, brushing off the knees of his pants. He offered a hand to Maeve, and she took it weakly, her eyes wide in shock, her mind trying to make sense of it all._

 _Ciaran pressed his lips against hers forcefully, holding the back of her neck tightly. When he pulled back, still grasping her neck, he said, "Let's get our daughter."_

* * *

Coming out of the vision, I leaned over and vomited, my sick puddling on the floor as I heaved.

"Oh, my God," Mom said, beginning to dismantle her circle. When she opened a door in the circle, I felt one cool hand press against the back of my neck while the other held my hair back from my face.

When I was done I started crying, wanting to erase this memory, wishing I had never pushed my way in. She stepped away for a minute, coming back with towels and a cold can of Sprite. She used a pre-wetted towel to wipe off my face, setting the other towels over where I had been sick. She opened the can for me and pressed it into my hands, curling my fingers around it.

"Drink," she prompted. "The sugar will help."

I took a shaky sip and swallowed, the citrusy bubbles stinging my raw throat. "Did that really happen?" I demanded.

"Unfortunately, yes." She said, cleaning the floor. "I'm so sorry you saw that, my love."

I kept taking sips, willing myself to relax, to stop shaking. "Why were you thinking about it?" I cried. "Why would you want to see that again?"

She took the towels to the laundry room and returned a few minutes later with a roll of paper towels and spray cleaner.

"Morgan, I feel we're under attack." She said matter-of-factly. "Ever since Moira was born I have had these horrible dreams, nightmares, where the words sound so familiar but I can never quite make them out."

I stared at her. "Ciaran's words?"

She nodded. "This was the memory I've been blocking out the most. It's the only way I've been able to look at him, to stand his touch all these years."

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

"Everything I did was to keep you safe." She insisted. "Look at her," she pointed to the car seat sitting by the door, my perfect angel baby sleeping as if the last hour had never happened. "Is there a limit to what you would do to protect her?"

I shook my head. "Of course not."

"There's your answer." She sighed, finishing up the floor. "Just be on your guard. A storm is coming for all of us."

I held the cool can to my cheek, closing my eyes to keep the tears from falling. "Okay," I whispered. "Can we find out when?"

"I have tried, but I keep getting different images, all of us at different ages—Moira especially. Most of the time she's about three or four, but I've had a few as she is now. It's impossible to know for sure."

I scoffed. "Great. So I have to live in fear for the next four years?"

Mom sighed. "No," she said strongly. "That's the last thing I want you to do. If you give in to fear, he wins no matter what. Focus on your life, your happiness—we will beat him, Morgan. I swear on my life."


	24. Chapter 24

**Almost done! It's been over a year (and I had sworn that I would get it wrapped up in a matter of months, so for that I am so truly sorry) since I started, and now there are only two chapters to go. No promises on when they'll be uploaded, but my goal is sooner rather than later, and then I'll jump back to finish my other stories before starting new ones - and trust me, there will be new ones! Please review!**

* * *

"I swear on my life."

It's such an easy promise to make, and one that not many would have to follow through with. Those five words, spoken in a moment of absolute reassurance, not meant to be taken literally, came back to haunt me…and my mother. Maeve could have said anything to make me feel better, but she chose those words—those exact words that meant life or death. Those words that left me feeling as though she could fall off the face of the earth in a heartbeat. Those words that were as much comforting in the moment as they were damning in the big picture. Those words that left me wondering if she had known all along what the outcome would be. Those words that should have prepared me, if only I'd listened carefully. If only I'd prepared for what now seems to have been the inevitable.

But as Maeve, my mother, the Fire Fairy of Belwicket would remind me, the Goddess has a plan for all of us. It's no use to fight fate.

-Morgan

* * *

 _October 30th—one day before Samhain._

The guilt was weighing on me.

Moira was barely six weeks old—still a newborn—and I listened to my mother and let her take her for the day.

" _You and Hunter need a break,"_ she'd insisted this morning when I was chugging down a giant mug of coffee in Practical Magick's back room. I was in to help sort the deliveries, even though it was technically my day off. I had thought I could pop in for an hour or two before Maeve came in, but she had shown up early and given me the judgmental up-and-down.

After some arguing, I'd agreed to leave Moira with her and go to New York City for the day with Hunter.

In any other instance, I would have loved the getaway with him. But this was different. This was council business—council business I had so stupidly agreed to cooperate with.

So now it was nearing one o'clock, and I was hungry, sleep-deprived and cranky, and in physical discomfort from needing to feed my baby—a baby who was surely also hungry, sleep-deprived, and cranky. We had a schedule and an unspoken agreement of what I was to her for the next year, and now she was being forced to go off said schedule and be fed formula that smelled sour and unnatural.

Next to me in the windowless, beige-painted room, Hunter took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I turned my head to face him and smiled in return, placing my other hand on top of his.

"I feel like I'm going on the stand in front of a hundred people who are already convinced I'm guilty."

"It won't be like that, love." He said quickly. "I've been on trial with the council before." He reminded me. "You're not being accused of murder."

"I know." I replied shakily.

"They'll ask some questions about your history with Ciaran and compare to what they've managed to drag from Killian."

I nodded, thinking of my poor, sweet, good-natured brother who never took anything seriously and probably thought it would be fun to mess with over-stressed council members. "Whatever he said, they should probably take with a grain of salt. Killian doesn't know anything—Ciaran doesn't trust him." I said, and Hunter agreed.

He glanced at his watch and breathed through his nose in annoyance—we'd been waiting an hour—then unwound his hand from mine. "I'm going to see what's taking so bloody long."

I grabbed his arm as he moved to get up, wide-eyed as panic set in about being left alone, even for a minute.

Being full-blooded woodbane was one thing, but I was the daughter of Ciaran MacEwan and Maeve Riordan. I had been taught from an early age, earlier than I can remember, to fear the council. I had to be on guard, always. I had to be careful not to reveal my clan or parentage. That was one of the reasons Ciaran didn't fight Maeve too hard on where I was raised and by whom.

All of Ciaran's children had a target on their backs, their very surname branding them as evil, untrustworthy. No one would bother a Riordan when the Belwicket line was presumed to have been entirely wiped out by the dark wave—I could be anyone. An Irish witch with an Irish name. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would pique the council's interests.

But when I met Hunter, when I confided in him, all bets were off. I was the secret love child of a ghost and a murderer, and the council now knew it. They were about to know everything.

"Please?" I asked, hoping the fear in my voice was enough.

Before he could respond we both felt witches coming towards the room we were corralled into. Hunter sat back down and we waited while the three of them came in and got organized. They sat at the table across from us, one taking out a notepad and a pen, one setting up a recorder, and one opening a file that was already crammed full.

They were formal, all business and no smiles—corporate. These were the real fire starters; the witch hunters who didn't want to get their hands dirty so they hired Seekers to do it for them. These were the lawmakers who persecuted witches for their very nature.

The witch with the notepad—a late forties woman in a wrinkled, long-sleeved red dress that clashed harshly against her pearly white skin and graying black hair—stared at me, eyes narrowed, calculating. Next to her was the man with the file, and he flipped through the pages in a frenzy, clearly annoyed with himself at not being more prepared.

It was no secret in our community that the council was disorganized, but to see it firsthand made me bite my lip to keep from chuckling—only furthering the cold stare from Red Dress. The second man with the recorder sat across from Hunter, looking bored.

Hunter squeezed my knee under the table and I took a deep breath.

"Would you please state your name for the record?"

 _For the record_? I wanted to roll my eyes. Were they the FBI now?

"Full name, please."

"Uh," I looked across the three of them to see if they were serious. The stoic glances I received in response confirmed that they were, in fact, _deadly_ serious. "Morgan Mackenna Riordan."

"And you're here to report on another witch for acts that violate council laws?"

I nodded. "Yes. Ciaran MacEwan."

The three of them looked at each other, boredom practically radiating off their tired, sloppily-dressed bodies. The woman actually recapped her pen and set it down on the blank notepad.

The head interrogator—whatever his official title was—leaned forward with his hands clasped together.

"Miss Riordan, surely you know you aren't the first witch to report on the MacEwans. Unless you can give us specific details, such as what exact crimes he's committed, where he's located, or you can provide us with evidence, you're wasting our time."

My eyes narrowed in disgust. How dare they just write me off like that? "I'm his daughter." I said irritably. "His youngest."

The three witches froze, actually _froze in place_ as I spoke. "We only know of one daughter," the woman said, but her voice was less sure, as if she was trying to work this out in her mind as she spoke. "Iona MacEwan."

"My half-sister," I agreed. "And believe me, I could file a completely separate report on her, too. She's as ruthless as he is, but fortunately not nearly as powerful."

"And your mother?" she asked.

I shook my head. "My mother isn't important to your investigation."

The head investigator with the recorder seized on my refusal of dragging Maeve into this like a starving jackal coming across a fresh carcass. "Who else would verify your claims?" he pressed.

"I will." Hunter said without hesitation. "And you can bring Killian MacEwan back in to confirm that Morgan is his sister."

The woman let out a huff. "He confirmed he only had _one_ sister."

"That was to protect me," I insisted. "I have my mother's last name because we all know that being branded a MacEwan in the eyes of the council is a fate worse than death." My words were harsher than I had meant, but the frustration I'd been feeling all morning was building up and clouding out everything else. I looked at Hunter, and he gave a small nod, answering my unspoken question. "My mother is Maeve Riordan," I said. "Of Belwicket."

"That's not possible," the man with the file who'd been quiet up until this point countered. "Belwicket was destroyed."

I nodded. "By my father, Ciaran. But Maeve escaped, and a few years later she and Ciaran reconnected and had me." It hurt to say this, hurt to brush off my family's sordid history as just something that happened, something ordinary. "I've been to Amyranth gatherings. I was almost killed by my father, Selene Belltower, and Cal Blair. I've made dark magick with him when I was only a child and didn't know better." I paused, gathered myself, and pushed on without looking at their faces. "I wasn't killed because I was pregnant at the time, and now that I've had my daughter it's like this dark cloud is following me, like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and he'll take her and mold her into what he wanted me to be."

The three council witches sat there, stunned. The woman who had been so cold actually had the nerve to look apologetic now.

"So may we continue with our report?" Hunter asked snidely, his hand on my knee being the only thing keeping me from flying apart. I put my hand on top of his, squeezed his fingers, and braced myself to continue.

* * *

"You were brilliant in there, love." Hunter said, leaning over the console to kiss me. "I'm proud of you for getting through it. I know it wasn't easy."

I shook my head. "Nope." I agreed. "But I'm glad it's over with." I buckled my seat belt and Hunter started the car. "I just want to get home and hold Moira. I feel like I haven't seen her in days."

He smiled at me briefly before we turned onto the crowded streets, traffic already backed up.

It was nearly three hours later when we got back to Red Kill, and I was glad to see my mom's car in the driveway of her house. I didn't want to go get Moira from my mom at a coven member's house.

Hunter and I got out of the car and went up to the front door, which was opened except for the screen in front of it. I opened the screen door and called for Maeve.

"Mom?" I yelled again, going down the hallway towards her workroom. When I came back out, Hunter had his phone up to his ear and shook his head at me.

"Mom!" I shouted urgently as Hunter redialed.

As I was about to send a witch message, my cell phone rang from the car, my senses picking up on it before my ears could. I ran out to the car and lunged for it, sighing with momentary relief as I recognized Maeve's number.

"Hey, where are you?" I asked breathlessly, my heart pounding.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," I heard Killian's voice instead, sounding near tears. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" I demanded. "What the hell is going on?"

There was a shuffling sound and muffled voices as someone else took over the phone. "Your mother and child are safe," Ciaran said calmly.

"I swear to God if you hurt her—"

Ciaran laughed easily. "Morgan, I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just want to talk with you. They are just… an insurance policy." He said, his voice smooth and velvety. "Come here and we'll talk, and Maeve and your little one can leave without harm."

"But I can't." I argued. "Right?"

"That's entirely up to you." Ciaran paused, letting his words sink in. "Though I should warn you to think very carefully. Any sign of that Seeker of yours and the deal is off."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I turned back to look at Hunter standing in the doorway. "Agreed." I whispered brokenly. "Where do I meet you?"

"Just outside of Widow's Vale there's a power sink beneath a cemetery. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes," I replied. Mom and her coven held Samhain there every year. I was uncomfortably familiar with it.

Ciaran hung up the phone, and I sank to the ground, my back sliding against the driver's side door of Hunter's car.

Hunter knelt in front of me, hands on my knees. "What's happened?"

I took in a shaky breath. "You need to call the council."


	25. Chapter 25

**Much quicker upload than I thought... last chapter coming soon.**

* * *

"We can stop playing games now, right?" I called out to Ciaran as I made my way up to where he perched innocently against a grave marker.

Hunter, as per Ciaran's orders, was not with me—but he was nearby, filling local council authorities in on the situation, ready to step in when the time came.

"I'm not playing games, Morgan." Ciaran said with a smile. Killian, next to him, looked solemn and pale, as if he'd just been tortured for two weeks straight with no sleep in between.

Why was he even here? I wondered. Did Ciaran find out Killian had spoken to the council? If I was a traitor for denying my blood inheritance, then what was Killian? Killian, who knew nothing yet spoke to the council about his family anyway. Killian disobeyed his all too powerful father for a few laughs. Killian made a fool of the MacEwan name, made Ciaran seem weak and unable to control his children. And if you couldn't control your children, what kind of a leader were you, really?

"Where's Mom?"

Ciaran offered his hand and I declined. His nostrils flared for just a second—rejection was not something he took lightly—and he nodded at Killian. Zombie-like, Killian stood, came around me, and pulled my arms behind my back. They were locked in his tight grip, and he pushed me forward, my feet unable to dig into the dry ground to halt him.

As Ciaran walked ahead of us I whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

Killian said nothing.

The sky was darkening rapidly, the full moon showing brightly in the dusk. Towards the woods that lined the cemetery, I saw flashes of orange just before we came into view of the bonfire that was rapidly licking at the dry wood and building, embers sparking off and winking out against the dark blue sky.

I had seen this before.

From my view in the dream, I'd come from the woods on the opposite side, where Maeve was standing, looking frail and frightened as Amyranth witches led her by either arm to the fire. My eyes darted around frantically to place Moira. I needed to see that she was safe. My senses were clashing with the chaos that surrounded me, making it impossible to cast them out to her. I couldn't even send a message to Hunter. I felt defeated and so stupid—I'd walked into the lion's den completely unprepared. Ciaran wouldn't keep his word, and why would he? What was in it for him?

"Did you make your decision, daughter?" Ciaran asked, his voice suddenly at my ear.

"What are my options, _Father_?" I spat, my anger igniting like wildfire.

He placed his hands on my face, cupping my cheeks in a loving gesture. "Give in to your powers, let yourself accept the dark. You would be unstoppable by my side." He was being gentle, fatherly, his expression filled with hope at the possibility of joining with him.

"Or?"

Ciaran's eyes narrowed, and his hands dropped from my face. "Or…" he turned and gestured to Maeve, whose eyes were fixed on me. "Your poor mother, who has already seen so much pain in her life—"

"At your hands!"

"Because of her actions," he insisted. "That woman will have to watch her only child, the person she loves most after me—"

I scoffed, and he slapped me. Hard. So hard it knocked the breath from my lungs. I blinked up at him, feeling, for the first time since arriving here, actual fear. This man is going to kill me, I thought. He is actually, undoubtedly, going to kill me. Here. Tonight.

"She will watch you die. She will be all alone and won't even have her grandchild as a connection to you." He threatened. "So what do you say? Let go of the light, embrace who you truly are, or let your mother die alone?"

"I won't join you." I said firmly.

"Your daughter will be an orphan," he said incredulously. "Do you realize how selfish you are? How naïve, how small-minded? You would give up your life based on principles rather than raise your daughter?"

I shook my head, refusing to let myself give in. "She has a father," I argued. "And he'll raise her to be light. You're not going to win, Ciaran!" I hissed. "You can kill me, but you will _never_ win!"

Ciaran gripped the back of my neck and pulled my out of Killian's mechanical grasp, my wrists feeling bruised. I felt my shoulders pop as I got yanked away too fast, my arms stinging with pain and utterly useless as the blood rushed back through them.

Unable to fight back, Ciaran dragged my down to the fire and threw me on the ground, face first. My right cheekbone hit a rock and I cried out, feeling the tiny bones crack apart beneath the skin.

Ciaran grabbed my hair as I tried to roll away, keeping me pinned to the ground as he had me exactly where he wanted me. My arms were weak, the muscles feeling as though ripped from their joints. My face was stinging with pain so strong my eyes watered uncontrollably.

"You did this to yourself," he whispered, his face inches away from mine. He reached behind him and pulled out an athame—a deadly looking blade carved with runes for power, a dark, almost black handle studded with garnet, my favorite stone. This wasn't Ciaran's athame that I had seen hundreds of times in various rituals. This was Amyranth's athame—the athame that destroyed lives, families, covens. The athame that brought about the destruction of Belwicket. The athame that left my mother without a family, and me without a legacy. The athame that would ensure the Riordan line truly dies with me.

The masked witches of Amyranth began to surround us, blocking me in even if I had had the strength to run away.

"I never wanted it to end this way, Morgan." Ciaran said regretfully as a lifted the blade, hovering the tip above my heart. "You can still change your mind."

I shook my head. "I won't."

I closed my eyes as the chanting began, surrounding me, voices echoing off of each other as if we were in a tunnel.

I cried, letting myself sob. I had wanted to be strong when I died, to show that I was at peace with my decision, but knowing I would never see Hunter again, never hold my baby or watch her grow up, destroyed me. I could feel my heart start to bleed before the tip of the blade even broke my flesh. I would be leaving Moira motherless. Fatherless, too, if Ciaran gets his way.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen, I thought helplessly. I wasn't ready to go.

"Maeve," Ciaran whispered, horrified. "Maeve, no!"

My tear-blurred eyes snapped open and focused on my mother. Her face was pale as she sunk to the ground, hands gripping the handle of the Belwicket athame, the blade twisted deep into her stomach.

"Mom!" I screamed shrilly, over and over, trying to force myself to see anything else. I kicked at Ciaran until he let me go, screaming at the top of my lungs as I watched her green eyes close and her body fall limply to the side.

Ciaran ran to Maeve and cradled her body, burying his face in her hair and wailing brokenly. I couldn't move, couldn't hold her and push him away. I couldn't say goodbye.

I could only watch and scream and beg the Goddess to let this be a dream.

 _Kill me instead. Kill me instead. Kill me instead._

Helplessly, I watched as men pulled Ciaran away from her. He didn't fight them, didn't have the strength to.

I crawled over to her, placing my numb hands on her stomach and using every healing spell I knew to fix this and bring her back. She wasn't dead, I told myself. She was unconscious, but not dead.

This was my mantra; this is what I told myself as I worked on her lifeless body. This is what I told myself when Hunter had pulled me away from her, my hands soaked in blood, his eyes filled with tears at seeing me in so much pain.

Every morning for the next year I woke up telling myself that it wasn't true, that she was seeing friends and would be back. She would come with me and Moira to pick a tree in December. She would cleanse our house every spring as we went through everything we no longer needed. She would sit on the porch with my little family and watch summertime thunderstorms, humoring me and my childish desire to see a tornado firsthand. She would be there for me when I got married, when Hunter and I decided to have another baby, when it was time for Moira to be initiated.

Every morning for the year following her death, I would wake up and tell myself this. I would let myself believe things were fine, that I had had a realistic nightmare, but that she was okay.

I told myself this every morning until I accepted it.


	26. Epilogue

**To everyone who has stuck with this story for so long, I cannot thank you enough! It's finally complete, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. This is not a true ending, rather the start of a new beginning. Hope you enjoy...**

* * *

Samhain.

An entire year and one day has gone by, and I have to laugh now. My eyes are dried out from the tears I'd shed over the last 366 days, my throat raw from waking up screaming. When I woke up this morning, it was like a veil had been lifted. I could see in color again, the bright autumn leaves outside my bedroom window alerting me of that. Everything before had been dull and gray through my eyes since it happened. The joy and gratitude I felt over retrieving my daughter hadn't been enough to keep me out of the fog, but I carried on because I had to. I no longer had a mother, and as awful as I felt, as guilty as I felt, and no matter how badly I wanted to die with her, I couldn't. I couldn't subject Moira to the same fate—not when she barely knew me. So every morning I got up with her, fed her, changed her, did every normal thing I could manage to push aside my grief for as long as possible. Then when she was distracted by Hunter or Bree or Alyce, I would go sit in the shower and cry. I would come out of the hot, steamy water exhausted and prune-skinned, and then take a nap for the rest of the afternoon. I didn't work, didn't need to as I'd inherited everything Maeve had ever owned. The house was mine, though I couldn't bring myself to go over. The shop was mine, and I left Alyce in charge. Her car, however, I did take. My hated Mercedes met its end—the one and only form of destruction Hunter had granted me. I had driven it out to an empty road, hopped out, and set the damned thing on fire. My insurance and the clueless mechanic chalked it up to an electric malfunction.

Ciaran was rotting away in a rehab facility, powerless. I would have given anything to see him stripped of his powers, given anything for him to see me standing there and realizing he was nothing now. But I hadn't been allowed. It would have been too much for me to handle in my "delicate" state, the council had told me through Hunter. Not even to my face—that's how weak I seemed to them. In hindsight, I could understand where they were coming from. I was an emotional teenager, postpartum and grieving. I would have been a liability in that situation. So as I did with the services for Maeve, I stayed in the shower when he was being stripped of his powers. I lost both of my parents in less than a month of each other, and though Ciaran wasn't dead and he was evil as evil could be, he was still my father. I still grieved for him, still cried when I thought about how awful it would be to not feel magick anymore, to not be connected to the Goddess and nature. Which, in turn, only made me cry more.

I had considered therapy for a brief minute, but then dismissed it. There was no doubt I'd be locked away on a 72-hour hold if I'd gone into a therapist's office and started spouting "nonsense" of being a witch and almost being sacrificed for my powers. And while those things were certainly true, it was best I didn't mention it in a clinical setting with my already hysterical, uncontrollable emotions.

I'm looking out my window now and can see the leaves, the gentle wind swishing them around, letting me know that I'd slept through half of fall and winter was on its way. My eyes are dry and I feel…calm. Content, even. Maybe not at peace, but I feel like I can carry on a conversation about Maeve and not burst into tears. This must be what it feels like, the start of a new beginning. I'm not happy, not yet, but I feel like I can be…eventually.

-Morgan

* * *

I set the pen down and closed my BOS. Taking a deep breath in, I held it for a few seconds. I let it out slowly, gazing out the window. I felt a small smile twitch the corners of my mouth. I _did_ feel content, and it was _amazing_.

My senses, clear and sharp once again, tiptoed throughout the apartment. I could feel that it was about seven a.m., I could see through my mind's eye Moira sleeping and pictured the shallow rising and falling of her chest as she breathed evenly. I could hear Dagda and Trixie's heartbeats as they slept, coiled together on a couch pillow on the floor.

And I could feel Hunter's senses reaching out to mine as he slowly came up behind me, gauging my mood. After a moment, after letting him in, I felt his arms wrap around me from behind, and I tilted my head to the side to let him kiss my neck. I held his hands to my chest as he kissed me, his lips moving painstakingly from my collarbone to the curve of my jaw.

"Good morning," he murmured against my cheek before kissing it.

My eyes closed and a small smile lifted the corners of my mouth. "Morning," I replied softly.

Hunter pulled away and sat on the edge of our currently disheveled bed. I turned in the desk chair to face him and crossed my right leg over my left.

His eyes expressed a seemingly endless supply of patience as he waited for me to speak. We'd been doing this dance for several months now—I would wake up feeling okay, almost normal, but after nice moments of tender kissing and love-making, I would be consumed by a wave of grief as reality set in. At that point, rather than have him see me cry for the umpteenth time, I would disconnect and make an excuse about needing to check on Moira or needing to get something from the shop downstairs.

"I'm okay," I said. "I really feel okay."

Hunter nodded and patted my knee. "Let's just take it easy today."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious—I'm not on the verge of a nervous breakdown, promise."

He stared at me hard for a moment, his green gaze penetrating deeply into mine, trying to assess me. Annoyed, I let all my barriers down. He scanned my mood, my aura, anything I couldn't successfully lie about.

"See?" I shrugged. "Nothing to worry about."

Hunter ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "Morgan—"

"Oh, my God," I huffed, leaving my chair to straddle him on the bed. I sat on his lap, my thighs hugging his hips and my arms around his neck. "Hunter, for the first time in a _year_ I feel like myself again. Don't you see how great that is? Can't you be excited?"

Hunter's hands came around my lower back to support my weight. "I am excited for you, love. I know how hard it's been and I want nothing more than for you to feel happy. I'm just…" he sighed. "I'm cautious. The last time you felt this way you set your car on fire and then wouldn't get out of bed for two days."

I nodded, knowing full well how awful it must have been for him to see me like that. Once again I felt guilty, but not for Maeve this time. I felt guilty that I had systematically destroyed all the progress Hunter had done in his life. He was the youngest member of the council, a brilliant, determined seeker, and I was responsible for him having to quit. He couldn't go around after witches misusing magick if his child's mother didn't even know if it was night or day. He couldn't pursue the redemption and revenge he longed for over the death of his brother. Because of me. Because I had gotten pregnant and lost everything in a single night. Because he loved me so much that he didn't even think twice about quitting the council.

I pressed my lips against his, willing him to open up to me, to let me show him how I felt. I _needed_ him. "I love you," I whispered, pressing myself closer to him. "I _want_ you." I urged. "I just want to feel good right now."

He breathed deeply, willing himself to think this through, feeling the need to put me off and be the rational one. But, physically, he was losing an uphill battle.

I reached down and lifted the hem of my shirt, peeling it off completely and letting it fall to the floor, my waist-length, sleep-tousled hair falling around me in loose brown waves. I placed my hands on his shoulders and kissed him again. "Please?" I whimpered, a breathy moan I knew he couldn't resist escaping my lips.

Holding my hips, Hunter pulled me backwards onto the bed with him, our mouths pressed together desperately, parting only long enough to remove his clothes and my underwear. When we came together I was seeing stars, lost in a dizzy dream with spots of brightness swirling around me.

Towards the end of it, when I could barely think, I felt Hunter's soul meet mine, a mutual understanding of love and lust for each other and the need to feel this ecstasy after months of despair and sorrow. This was love, I realized. This was that intense feeling of need and security, the feeling of rightness that came from loving someone and having them love you back just as much. I never wanted to let it go.

* * *

"Are you sure?"

I looked up at my former house, eerily familiar, and entirely unchanged in the last year. I nodded at Hunter's question, and he took the key out of his pocket to unlock the door.

I squeezed Moira to me as I walked up the porch steps with her, kissing her cheek before setting her down outside the now open door. She looked up at me, her light hazel eyes asking for permission for only a second until toddler senses kicked in and she waddled her way into the living room.

I looked at Hunter again and smiled sadly. This was tougher than I had thought it would be, but I knew that hard things had to be faced. No use sweeping it under the rug.

He took my hand and led me into the house, shutting the door behind us.

"This feels so weird," I said. "Like another lifetime ago."

Hunter rubbed my back and kissed my forehead. "I bet."

Moira was attempting to climb up into one of the armchairs, and Hunter left me to scoop her up, causing a flurry of delighted giggles as she was being held upside down. When he set her on her feet, she immediately fell down from lack of balance. I held my breath, waiting to step in the moment she started to cry, but she looked up at Hunter, saw that he didn't look worried, and laughed as if it were nothing.

I thanked the Goddess then that she hadn't seen me, hadn't seen my worried expression of fear that she'd gotten hurt because she probably would have freaked.

Hunter smiled at me reassuringly, and I took a deep breath. "It doesn't have to be now, Morgan."

"I know." I replied. "I just want to start moving in now, let us adjust to it slowly." I tucked my hair back behind my ear. "I was thinking of offering Alyce our apartment—I know she likes where she lives now but I'd let her live there for free."

"That's really nice. Very generous."

I shook my head. "She's just been there for me, for us, so much and I want to repay her any way I can."

Hunter looked around the living room, dust and cobwebs everywhere. "Where first?"

* * *

Hours later we were finished cleaning. The house, now habitable again, seemed brighter and happier. I went downstairs as Hunter put Moira down for a nap in my old room, needing a break in case I felt overwhelmed.

I stood in front of my mom's workroom, my hand on the doorknob. I was scared to turn the handle—sad of what I might see. Would it still feel like her? I wondered. Would I still feel her vibrations, her aura?

I swallowed hard and opened the door, the heavy wood creaking as it lazily swung open. I stepped in and shut the door behind me, leaning back against it for support. It did feel like her—not like she was physically here, but I felt her presence. I felt her light as I looked around the untouched room that no dust particles had dared settle on. My lip quivered and I bit down on it, refusing to cry. I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and plowed forward, going to the middle shelf on the back wall to retrieve her most sacred possessions. Belwicket's tools the tools I had been drawn to since I could remember. The metal box was spelled to be useless for anyone else, but as I touched it, the lid unlatched. A single tear slipped out as I felt Maeve's soul wrap around my senses, enveloping me tightly and telling me that she loved me more than anything on this earth.

I sniffled, forcing myself to smile. She was still here, in a way. I could still feel her and feel comforted by her, and that was infinitely better than nothing.

I opened the lid and reached for the green silk robe I'd been envisioning wearing since I was little. This was a special robe, made for Riordan witches to help us channel our power. Maeve had worn it only for sabbats, never feeling the need to use it in weekly circles. She had promised me that I could wear it only when I felt like I should. I hadn't known what she'd meant until now. Now I held the green silk in my hands and felt the magick imbued in its fabric, feeling that the time was right. It was finally time for me to live up to my full potential, to embrace the light once and for all.

* * *

That night, surrounding the bonfire as we danced in a circle, I felt myself let go of everything. All my thoughts, worries, anything negative that held me back from loving my life disappeared into the fire as easily and carefree as Moira's dancing. Being too little to join the rest of our coven, she danced inside our circle, her black tutu swishing around her. She was careful to stay far enough away from the flames but occasionally stopped and gazed into it, in awe of its power.

My coven mates, many of whom did not even live near us anymore but still come back for our celebrations, were lighthearted and laughing, welcoming the new year with nothing but openness and enthusiasm.

My eyes met Hunter's across the circle and I smiled through the tears that were now pouring out as realization struck me.

As I had sent out my love and respect to my mother on the other side, I felt a warmness spread throughout my body. An answer of sorts. The final message from the woman who had loved me until the end: a baby. I was carrying another baby.

It was a blessing. It was a gift.

It was magick.


End file.
